


They Never Get Around to the History Project

by silently



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Sexual Content, Some Action, Teenage Drama, What happens when they address the tension and start a relationship, not so slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-01-07 03:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silently/pseuds/silently
Summary: “I think you and MJ would be good. I might not understand it but I can see it. But nothing’s gonna happen if you pursue her with your current method of waiting til she’s out of earshot then telling me how pretty you think she is.”“She’s so pretty. She’s SO pretty, man. She has like, the perfect face.”“Focus, Peter.”“No, I know. I just, I can’t even picture her reaction. Like, what comes after I say I like her? I literally can’t picture it. Is she gonna slap me? Would she just look at me until I evaporate? I feel like she’s gonna stare until I just... am dead. Like, I’ll just be looking at her then I’ll drop dead.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyyyyy this. Write a comment if you like to tell me if I did a good or v bad job!

“Dude you can’t expect her to do all the work here.”

“But it’s MJ. Don’t you think she would’ve said something if she liked me? She does whatever she wants. If she wanted things to change between me and her she’d just, like, walk up and say hey loser we’re dating now.” 

“You’re making excuses to avoid telling her you like her.” 

“But Ned—“

“But nothing, Peter. She might be nervous too. Get your shit together.”

“Hey now.” 

“I’m just saying, friend to friend, you’ve gotta ask her out. You’re gonna make yourself miserable if you say nothing then find out one day she’s met some guy at a protest who’s read even more books than she has.”

“Not possible. She’s read everything already. God, she’s so smart, Ned.” 

“Dude. Not the point.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“I think you and MJ would be good. I might not understand it but I can see it. But nothing’s gonna happen if you pursue her with your current method of waiting til she’s out of earshot then telling me how pretty you think she is.” 

“She’s so pretty. She’s SO pretty, man. She has like, the perfect face.” 

“Focus, Peter.” 

“No, I know. I just, I can’t even picture her reaction. Like, what comes after I say I like her? I literally can’t picture it. Is she gonna slap me? Would she just look at me until I evaporate? I feel like she’s gonna stare until I just... am dead. Like, I’ll just be looking at her then I’ll drop dead.” 

“MJ’s weird but she’s not cruel. Also she’s not a fucking basilisk, what the fuck. She’s our friend, dude. No matter what she wouldn’t purposely try to make you feel bad. And I really do think she likes you too. Girl’s hard to read, but I’ve seen the looks.”

“The looks.” 

“The LOOKS.”

“Why is this so much harder than fighting crime.”

“I don’t know, man.”

“Okay. Fuck, okay, I’m gonna do this.”

 

\--------

 

Peter didn’t do it. 

Instead, as the bell rang at the end of last period he ran outside to find an empty alley. Changing into his suit he thought about Ned’s advice and breathed a semi-muffled, fully exasperated “fuuuuck” into the mask he tugged over his face. 

One thwarted mugging and a handful of show-off flips later, Peter was climbing through his window at home. Just in time to hear the buzzer. 

“May, are you home?” No response. 

He answered it to a bored-sounding Michelle. 

“MJ! Hey. What are you, uh, what are you doing here?”

“Let me up, Peter.”

“Right. See you in a sec!”

He quickly shed his suit and shoved it into his backpack before hearing her knock and running to the door, now in sweats and a t-shirt. 

As he opened it, catching his breath, she narrowed her eyes and gave him a once over. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

“What? No. I’m just, I was just... rearranging... some furniture.” Did his cheeks get slightly pink at that? He tried not to think about it. He also tried not to whack himself in the head. Rearranging furniture, Peter? 

“Well you’re doing a shit job of it, Parker. Everything looks the same.”

“Yeah, I decided it was actually pretty good how it started. Who knew.”

Brushing past him she moved into the apartment and laid her backpack against a leg of the kitchen table. 

“Right. So, is it still cool for us to work on the History project now?”

Their conversation from earlier in the week resurfaced in his memory. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah of course. I’ll go grab my laptop.”

As he re-entered the kitchen, he watched her laying out notecards on the table. He saw her face, tense in concentration, and her hair, illuminated by a setting sunbeam. For a second he let himself just look at her. Swallowing, he took a seat. 

“Peter, do you have anything to drink?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab you a glass of water. Or we have some black tea?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of vodka. Wine’d do the trick too.”

“Oh. Um. I don’t know. May probably has a bottle somewhere around here. I could—”

“Good. Could you pull it out and take a big swig or two? I’m gonna need you to calm down.” 

Peter blinked and his eyes narrowed.

“MJ.”

“Peter.” 

She met his unimpressed look with a smirk.

“Seriously man, what’s up with you?” 

“Nothing?” 

MJ put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, but you could like, talk to me and stuff if you want to. I hear that’s all the rage with kids these days. If there’s something you need to talk about with someone, I mean. You’ve been acting weird around me lately, and it’s weird.”

“I haven’t been weird.” 

“Peter. You dodged me in the hallways at school today. And yesterday for that matter. I saw you see me and turn the other way, more than once.” She paused. “Lesser mortals would be offended.” 

Peter met her eyes and quickly looked away. Fuck.

“How about we work on History?”

“How about you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“How about you drop this!” He tried to keep up the lighthearted tone of the conversation, but this last exchange came out more heated than he’d intended.

For a second she looked almost hurt, and Peter wished he could be cool for one minute of his life. Hey MJ, I’ve been avoiding you because I’m afraid that I’ll accidentally spill how I’m crazy about you. Hey MJ, sorry for being a dick just now, it’s just that I can’t think all that clearly when you’re sitting this close to me and it’s only the two of us in a room and you’re you. Hey MJ, you might be my favorite person and I just want to say that out loud. Hey MJ—

“Peter, this seems like a bad time for you, so I’m gonna go. It’ll give you a headstart on avoiding me.” 

“MJ, wait.”

She stood up.

“Michelle.” 

At that she sat back down, not yet looking at Peter. 

“I don’t know how to say it.”

She glanced up with no discernible expression.

“I want to tell you something, but I don’t know how to say it. And I don’t want it to mess anything up between us.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, and she let him squirm for a few more seconds before she spoke.

“It’s okay. I know.” 

“You know?!”

“I mean, I suspected. And then just now I literally saw him, er, you, crawl into your bedroom window, so, unless you wanted to tell me you’re having a torrid affair with Spider-Man, then yeah, I know it’s you.” 

Peter’s eyes widened to an almost comical size. Then he started to sputter.

“Wait, that’s— But I— I mean, how did you—“

“Peter. Chill. It’s not gonna change anything. I mean it explains how you suddenly got muscles and stuff and why you’re always running out the door. And it’s cool that you help people. This is good stuff for your friends to know. But you’re still the same nerd. I’ll wait a day to start razzing you on the suit, but it’s coming. Also, can we talk about Liz for a second? I mean that whole situation is so much stranger now that I know for sure it was you who put her dad in prison.” 

Peter’s face was reddening by the minute. This was NOT the secret he was about to share, and he didn’t know to react. He went to open his mouth, but she cut him off.

“And you’re gonna have to tell me how this all happened. That I am dying to know. I can see you’re in shock though. So I’ll wait.” 

After a second, she continued, “Maybe I’ll make toast.” 

She got up to browse the Parker residence’s kitchen cabinets as he sunk forward with a groan, forehead meeting the table. 

A few minutes later, Peter caught Michelle’s eyes as she spread a pat of butter across her toast. She held the look as she took a crunch.

“Well, fuck,” he said, finally. “Fuck.” Confused and nervous as he was in that moment, he couldn’t help but smile as he looked at her, chilling in his kitchen like she lived there, smirking like she hadn’t just upturned his life.

After the obligatory How When Where and a brief rundown of the Spidey abilities, Peter wasn’t feeling quite so weird about her knowing. It was actually kind of nice. And he got to flaunt his abs for a second when she demanded he try on the suit for her. He could swear he heard her breath hitch when his shirt came off. For the first time since he’d gotten to know Michelle, Peter felt like he had a semblance of the upper hand. She smiled at him, though, a little coy and a lot mischevious, and that feeling was out the window. 

 

\----------

 

Pete: Ok so Michelle knows about Spider-Man now

Pete: Ned

Pete: NED!! RESPOND!

NED: THATS what you tell her???

Pete: No she just figured it out and told me she knew like it was no big deal

Pete: She thinks I’ve been weird around her cuz I thought she suspected

NED: So you took the golden opportunity and said No MJ it’s actually because I, a superhero, want to date you

Pete: No I said ngguuuguhnnng like a fucking idiot

NED: Ah

Pete: Yeah

NED: This definitely ups your chances tho. I mean being an Avenger can’t be UNappealing

Pete: I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say a good thing about Mr. Stark, so idk. She seemed impressed but she could have been humoring me

NED: Does that sound like MJ to you?

Pete: Good point

Pete: Do you think she thinks it’s stupid that it’s me ? 

NED: I can see her thinking the spandex is a little extra

Pete: It’s not spandex!!

NED: “Parker, underwear is supposed to go under your clothes, not replace them”

NED: But she can’t think it’s stupid. Spider-Man is awesome

Pete: Dude I am so not ready for her to critique this stuff

NED: I’m pretty sure she roasts from a good place

Pete: Yeah yeah yeah

NED: Your crush, not mine

 


	2. Chapter 2

About fifteen minutes before practice was set to start, Michelle was arranging Decathlon printouts into piles for each member. 

Things had been basically normal for a couple days. And then it was Friday.

Michelle had lowkey liked Peter for a couple months now. There was just something about that boy. First, she’d noticed he was really smart. Then she’d started noticing things like the way his hair curled in the back and how he turned his chin down when he laughed really hard. And how he often showed no expression at all, like his mind was somewhere else entirely. It made him mysterious, and Michelle always liked a mystery. There weren’t many people she couldn’t clock immediately. Not many people surprised her, and not too many seemed to have a whole other life hidden away in their brains. 

A couple times she noticed bruises. Another time a certain stiffness in his arm as he went to open his locker. She knew Aunt May—knew she was a genuinely phenomenal woman with warmth enough to fill an auditorium, knew she also hadn’t brought any dates, burly dudes or otherwise, home since her husband died—so Michelle quickly tossed the parental abuse theory. Flash was a bully, but a generally benign kid, physically speaking. So Michelle kept noticing Peter until she had a theory that fit. 

Spider-Man was shot clean through the knee one night—it was in the news and everything—and Peter missed a day of school. When he got back, he wore sweatpants to gym. While they jogged outside. In the ninety degree heat. And he crapped out after half a mile. 

That was the first time Michelle thought he could be Spider-Man. And the evidence continued to add up. And then she saw him literally crawl through Peter Parker’s window.

So she told him what she knew, hoping it’d give them something secret they might connect over, something that’d inspire him to talk to her more. 

As obvious as he and Ned had been, though, Peter felt it was too much to have three people talking about Spider-Man at school, so when Michelle had slid her tray over to the two boys at lunch, imagining the Decathlon-friends to friends-friends ice now broken, she was quickly disappointed. Peter was as awkward as ever around her. 

So she let things be normal. But then it was Friday. And here she was, arranging Decathlon papers and, though she felt stupid admitting it to herself, she didn’t want to not see Peter for two days. 

She didn’t know what to do about that, exactly, so she was frustrated. 

She’d told him what she knew, he’d shared some parts of the story with her, but then he’d acted like nothing was different. Maybe he’d been avoiding her lately because he wanted to avoid her. Maybe it was that simple, and it had nothing to do with her catching on to Spider-Man’s identity. 

But for a hot minute it had felt like they were headed somewhere, Michelle and Peter. Like he laughed more at her occasional jokes and smiled a little brighter when he saw her. He chose to sit next to her in particular on more than one occasion, and he’d asked her if she wanted to partner for the quarter’s History project. He did that. 

So what gives, Parker? One step forward, two steps back. 

Michelle paused for a minute and revisited a frequently trod path of fears: Maybe she was too hard. Too cold? She could be a little nicer in general, and in Decathlon she could maybe give him a break sometimes, especially seeing as he had a damn good excuse for being a flake. 

It’s like she’d been reading a book when everyone else played together in first grade and learned how to share emotions. Other kids taught each other how to give compliments without needing to follow up with an insult, and other kids figured out how to be vulnerable enough to bond without fearing they’d crumble into pieces. Somehow other people were soft and strong and whole all at the same time. 

And Peter was probably the best of all of them. Every time he came to practice, she’d realized this past week, he was in a room of people whose lives he’d saved. And the beautiful selfless idiot said nothing. He let Flash make fun of him and he let the others make all kinds of comments about Spider-Man, and he didn’t even lean on it. Peter deserved a very non-Michelle kind of girl who would build him up all the times he wouldn’t do it himself. 

Somebody who’d tell him how fucking cute he was when that little dimple formed above his mouth when he smiled small. Damnit. Peter was taking up entirely too much space in her head. 

“Hey MJ.”

She spun around.

“Hey Peter.”

He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he smiled at her and took a seat. 

 

\-------

 

Michelle had on a sweater that showed just enough collarbone to make him nervous. Her hair was crazy like always and he loved it. And she was whooping his ass in Decathlon. 

“Peter, you’re not paying attention! You’re here today, so you might as well remind us why we let you stay on the team.”

He winced and looked at his friends at the table. They were all obviously trying not to stare at him. 

“Sorry guys.” 

“Okay. Back to Renaissance poets.”

 

\-----------

 

Practice ended and Peter was thinking about how to make things up to Michelle as he loaded up his backpack. 

“Hey, loser, we never actually got anything done on that History project.”

He’d seemed to flinch even before she’d tapped his shoulder, and she made the mental note to ask more about Spidey senses later. Did he know it was her before looking around? Could he feel a Michelle-specific vibe when she got close?

“Oh.” His eyebrows were raised.

“Yeah, so let’s do something to rectify that tomorrow. You free?”

“Um, yes. Yeah, yeah let’s do that.” 

“Cool.” 

“Wait, MJ, I mean, actually, I’m free now? If you wanted to just start now. I get it if not though. You probably have plans or something.” 

“Nope.”

“Okay then yeah. Should we stay here or…?”

“I try to keep this place strictly Decathlon. Wouldn’t want to cross-contaminate. How about Checkers?”

 

\----------- 

 

The two walked slowly toward the small cafe, at first barely speaking. It was bad for both of them. 

Michelle broke the silence. “I have to know. How do you even find crime to fight? Like, are your senses so dialled up that you can hear an old lady being mugged two blocks away?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Peter laughed. “I mainly swing around and kinda look for anything that seems out of place. People who are running but aren’t in workout stuff, or like a bunch of different kinds of people all gathered together. I don’t know. Now that people kind of know me they yell at me if I’m around and something’s happened.” He paused. “I actually spend a lot of my time just looking. That’s kind of reassuring, though, like for a minute things are okay and maybe people decided it was a good day to not be terrible.”

She nodded. “So have you ever been swinging by a window and seen stuff happening inside?”

Peter froze for a second. “Like…” His eyes narrowed. “Sex stuff?”

“No, disphit, we’re talking about crime. Like domestic violence.”

Welp, called that one wrong, Parker. “Right. Um, no. No, I actually haven’t really tried scouting through buildings. I guess that feels kind of like an invasion of privacy. I mean, if I saw something I’d stop it, or I’d try to, but I pretty much just watch the street unless I’m like chasing someone and they go inside.” 

“Makes sense.”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“Wanna see what I mean?” 

“What?”

“Would you wanna go up high somewhere? I could show what I do when I’m patrolling.”

Michelle stopped in her tracks and grabbed his arm.

“Fuck yes.”

She followed him into a quiet alleyway and watched him pull his suit out of his backpack, which he then webbed to a dumpster. 

“Do you always have that with you?”

“Pretty much.” 

He changed and she watched him, shamelessly. He tried not to notice.

When he motioned for her to come towards him, she was slow to move. She’d just seen what she was about to be pressed tightly against, and she needed a few seconds to appreciate it. 

“Hold onto my shoulders, and I’ll hold your waist. I promise you won’t fall, okay? I wouldn’t let you fall.”

Michelle nodded and put her arms around his neck. “Just tell me right before you…” She made a web-slinging wrist motion.

He laughed at that and said, “Okay. That’d be now.” 

And they took off. 

MJ spent the entire ride with half of her face buried against his neck. Her eyes peeked over his shoulder, and she watched the city move with frightening speed around her. 

“Motherfucking shit, Parker.”

“I know, right?” He practically yelled it back at her. She could hear him smiling.

 

\------------- 

 

Legs dangling off the edge of a rooftop, they shared a pack of sour patch kids MJ had stashed in her bag. She gave him the red ones. He hadn’t asked for them, but they were the best flavor and she wanted to say thank you. 

“If I could swing myself anywhere in the city like that, I’d never come down. I’d find a library, sit up top, and just snatch books through the window.”

Peter ran his fingers along the rough concrete. 

“We could go find a library if you wanted.” 

“No, it’d ruin it if you were there.”

“Ouch.”

“That came out wrong. I just meant that I like to be alone sometimes. And if I could go places no one else could go, I’d have the perfect loner spots. Sorry, I didn’t mean— I was just thinking out loud.” 

“No, it’s cool, I get what you were saying. It gets old fast being out here alone, though.”

Silence.

“I really didn’t mean that you ruin things, being around. Sometimes I don’t say the right thing.”

“It’s really okay.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s freaking me out.”

Michelle smiled. She elbowed him softly.

He leaned in and bumped her with his shoulder. Maybe a little too hard. It would have felt like flirting if it didn’t cause her life to flash in front of her eyes. 

“Sorry sorry sorry! My bad, MJ.” 

“PETER we are on the edge of a BUILDING.”

She got up and took a few steps back. 

“I think I’d like to be on the ground now.”

“Yep. Okay.”

 

\------------- 

 

The light was starting to fade, and Peter was back in normal clothes walking Michelle home.

“Do you ever think about just telling people it’s you?”

He shook his head quickly. She didn’t press it. 

They walked a few more blocks, knuckles nearly brushing. 

Maybe he could walk her to her door and kiss her. He could pull a subtle ‘look at the lips and lean in,’ letting her decide whether or not she wanted to pull back. That way he wouldn’t have actually said anything out loud, which would make rejection feel less potent. Maybe? Or he could ask her, Michelle, can I kiss you? But she might not go for that. Is it lame to ask? Aren’t you supposed to just know? Aren’t you supposed to not nearly push a girl you like off a roof? It was almost a moment, Peter! You almost had a moment there with her. If you hadn’t freaked her out, you could have watched the sunset together. That would have been a moment. She definitely implied she likes having you around sometimes, and that’s solid, right? It was a start. 

“Anything on your mind there, Parker?”

“Nope. No. I was thinking about the sunset. It might have been nice to watch up there.”

Michelle gave him a once over. “Yeah. Could’ve been nice.” 

They stopped walking.

“So we’re at my door now.”

“Right.”

“Thanks for walking me back. I let you do it since you’re literally Spider-Man, but it’s important you know I also can take care of myself.”

“I know.”

“Good. Okay. Well I’ll see you Monday, Peter.”

“See you Monday.”

Before he heard the door click, it was swinging open again. 

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… you know… flinging me across New York.”

He snorted and looked at his feet.

“See ya, MJ.”

Walking home, he couldn’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never read a Spider-Man comic in me life, so sorry if I go creating wild departures from the canon. Anyhoo... hope you like this. Let me know if you do! :)


	3. Chapter 3

It took a while for Peter to fall asleep Sunday night, and the sleeping didn’t last very long. Around 5:30 he decided he’d tossed and turned as much as he could stand, so he very quietly pulled off his t-shirt and replaced it with the red and blue suit. He crawled out his window and onto the fire escape. 

The predawn air instantly relaxed him. For a few minutes he sat there, feeling the burn of his sleep-deprived eyes, the rise and fall of his chest, the chill of the night that felt like it might last forever. He’d like to have MJ with him on a night like this, when he couldn’t sleep and it was just the right kind of cold out. He pictured her with bedhead, grumbling next to him about all the ways she could kill him for waking her up, and he realized he was smiling. Then he heard a car alarm and jumped to attention.

Alright, Spider-Man. Let’s do this.

He shot a long web from his wrist and flew forward, swallowed by the dark.

After an hour or so, Peter knew he had to find his way back home, but motion in his periphery piqued his interest. A bulk delivery of some kind was being made to an electronics shop. The driver stood on the curb, staring at nothing in particular, seemingly half asleep, as the shopowner paused their transaction and jogged inside for something. The open back of the U-Haul was conspicuous, and a third man had just appeared on the scene. What caught Peter’s eye was this third man openly assessing the scene and darting in for a grab and run. 

Peter swung down until he reached a second-story fire escape, and from there he shot a web at the man’s back. Jerked backwards, the man dropped the collection of hard drives he’d managed to steal and lost his balance. His bare head hit the concrete with a frightening crack. 

He stopped moving.

“No no nonono no” Peter yelped as his body froze. 

A few people were on the street and were now pointing at Spider-Man. The U-Haul driver had clued into what was happening and ran up to collect his nearly stolen cargo. Peter didn’t pay much attention to the activity, though, as he’d felt his heart stop at the crunch of skull against pavement. 

He swung down to the immobile would-be-robber and asked Karen to assess his injuries. 

“Put your fingers on his pulse, Peter.” 

She read basic biometric data, enough to relieve Peter that the man was alive, and his heart was strong, though he was unconscious. 

“Shall I call for an ambulance?”

“Yeah, Karen, call 911.”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

“No, man, please.”

Peter looked down to see the man was now squinting and staring at him. 

“What is your emergency?”

“Um, nevermind. End call.” 

“Are you okay?”

“Get the fuck off me, kid.” The man tried pushing Peter back but was clearly woozy at the prospect of standing. He paused, crouching, and ran his hand up the back of his head, pulling back and staring dazedly at bloodied fingers.

Peter squatted next to him, entirely unsure of what to do. Here he was helping someone he’d just stopped from committing a crime. The shopowner and U-Haul guy had now parted ways, delivery complete, and without the actual loss of property, this dude was of no interest to the electronics store, which was on its way to a normal business day. Now conscious, the man was clearly well enough that Peter felt Spider-Man could leave the scene, crime resolved, but the question came down to whether or not to call the police. Maybe a concussion was enough punishment for one day? 

The guy was clearly no high stakes criminal, having made a blatantly half-assed attempt at petty larceny. Hardly the next Toomes. But you never know… Peter zoned out and didn’t realize he was now gripping the man by the arm.

“Just let me go, kid. Come on, man. I didn’t even get anything. Come on.” He was still pretty out of it, barely resisting Peter’s hold. 

“You gotta get out of the road.”

“Let got of me, man. Dude I got a kid, alright. I got a kid. I just wanted to have some money for my kid.” 

“You think the owner of that store doesn't need money for his family too?”

“You don’t understand, man. Come on.” 

Peter pulled him to a nearby alleyway, where the guy, who clearly couldn’t see straight, was leaning against the brick wall. This was simultaneously the easiest and most uncomfortable crime intervention Peter had ever taken part in. This guy had no fight in him; Peter had absolute power. Something about that, though, shook the balance of things. Spider-Man was supposed to help the little guy, and now this “criminal” was the guy who needed help.

It had been nagging at Peter since Toomes, this feeling that maybe there were some greater wrongs he was making worse, that some criminals were the little guys, when you looked at the bigger picture. Sometimes. Toomes was hurting people with the weapons he sold, but he’d been right that Tony Stark had done exactly the same thing, on a much grander scale. When it came to neighborhood crime the stakes were lower, and people robbing a bodega or stealing a car were doing a pretty cut and dried “bad thing.” But, Peter was starting to feel, maybe by sending these people to jail he was doing something wrong too. The man in front of him was a mess.

“Okay, I’m gonna call 911 back and an ambulance is gonna come pick you up. I’m not gonna call the police this time, but if I see you doing this again I won’t be so nice, okay?”

“No, man, look, please. I can’t go to jail. I mean I’m all my kid’s got.” 

“I told you, I’m just calling for an ambulance.” 

“No, no, no, man. I can’t pay for that. Come on, please.” 

Shit. Peter had no idea if he was about to bankrupt this man. How does healthcare work, again? He wasn’t sure if he could just leave this guy in good conscience. The attempted robbery was one thing, but the head wound was entirely Peter’s fault. As Peter grew more and more anxious—he really should’ve been on his way home by now—the man just kept talking.

“—Man, it’s my fault I’m a loser, but that’s not my kid’s fault, okay? He’s smart. He could go to college. I can’t go to jail, man. If he does anything good it’ll be because I did some stuff I shouldn’t do, okay? Just let me go, please let me go—“

“Don’t fall asleep, okay? Your head. Just… stay awake, and… and don’t do anything bad today, alright?”

“Yeah yeah yeah, man, yeah.” The man slumped down, conscious but barely. Peter didn’t know what was going to happen with this guy, what should happen with this guy, or what he wanted to happen. Something about it all set off a rolling doubt, nebulous energy prickling down his spine.

In a minute, Spider-Man was gone, having spelled out HELP ME in webbing above the man’s head. It was as much a message to a passing Good Samaritan as it was the only words in Peter’s mind.

 

\------------ 

 

Peter spent the rest of his day—when not falling asleep in class—wishing he were a better Spider-Man. That things were simpler or that he could somehow know when he was doing The Right Thing. That the guy who got to be a superhero were older, smarter, and less of an awkward kid with daddy issues. He sat with all the mistakes he’d ever made and all the bad calls and the smallest of errors playing over and over in his memory.

Ned and MJ conferred over lunch as Peter napped, head in his arms on the table. 

“He was fine the other day.”

“Do you think he’s got internal bleeding? Can that even happen or does all the blood just suck right back into place super fast?”

“Maybe he’s been poisoned.”

“Guys, I’m fine,” came Peter’s muffled voice. 

“You’ve been weirdly quiet all day, dude.”

“Yeah, and usually when someone’s okay they use lunchtime to eat, not go unconscious.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“Because you were impaled?”

“Run over?”

“Scolded by Tony Stark?”

“Forced to eat May’s casserole?”

They kept going til Peter lifted his head and they could see he was smiling. He let out a soft laugh and stole a fry from Ned’s tray. Still pretending he’d just been tired, he avoided further questions. By the time lunch ended the conversation was normal. 

Peter might have felt slightly brighter, but he was still distracted by the morning. So distracted, incidentally, that he forgot to be awkward around Michelle. For a minute she wasn’t someone he wanted, she was just someone who was there for him, and it felt nice. 

Michelle took the easy conversation as a sign that he hadn’t regretted flirting with her last week—that was flirting, right?—and that he didn’t mind her joining him and Ned. She was still slightly worried he was hiding something, though. He seemed more than just tired. She’d sat down with them when Ned caught her eye at the beginning of lunch, gesturing to Peter’s sleeping form. Now that Ned knew she knew about Spider-Man, there was only one person he could assess his friend with. Ned and MJ had spent a lot of the weekend texting about Spider-Man. 

Lunch was over and they parted ways, but Michelle kept thinking about Peter. It seemed like he was fine, physically speaking, so something had happened to upset him. There wasn’t much he kept from Ned, if Michelle’s observations rang true, so either he’d truly just slept poorly, or something was really wrong. 

And then it occurred to her: this is where you can be nice, Michelle. This is where you can be the kind of person who helps, like he would—in an instant—if you were upset. Make an effort. 

 

\-------- 

 

MJ waited til the bell rang out at the end of the day and fast-walked to his locker. 

“Hey, sleepy. You’re coming with me.” She grabbed a befuddled Peter Parker and led him by the arm towards the library. 

“What is going on, MJ?” 

She realized how long she’d been holding his arm, his really excellent, solid arm, and dropped her hand.

“You’re upset, and I think you shouldn’t be. So we’re going to destroy some school property.” 

“Wait, what?” Sometimes being around MJ felt like getting whiplash. 

“You heard me.” 

“We’ll get to the destroying school property thing in a minute, but first off, I’m not upset.”

“I don’t buy that you’re just tired. You’re tired a lot, and you get loopy when you’re tired. I haven’t heard you laugh once today.” 

Peter tried not to let his whole face smile. Michelle Jones was worried because she hadn’t heard him laugh today. That might be the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard himself think. He wanted to reach out and touch her so bad. He wanted to do a lot of things with her. Maybe he could forget Spider-Man for a minute and— 

“What I mean is, if you’re upset you’re gonna be a distracted Decathlon member and a useless partner on the History project, so it’s important that you cheer up.”

“Okay.”

“Alright. Well, to cheer you up we’re going to deface a few books. My choices are the really awful ones where the girl’s a brainless sexpot and everybody’s white. I go in and change the dialogue. I’ve been doing this for years and no one’s ever noticed. At least,” she paused, “No one’s ever complained. I swear it’ll make life seem better.” 

Peter looked at the ceiling and grinned. He held out a hand as if to say, lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the nice comments you guys are leaving!! I'm so happy people are enjoying this ✌️


	4. Chapter 4

They spent about an hour in the back of the library, rifling through different books, changing declarations of love to detailed descriptions of intestinal complaints and adding dialogue for a variety of inanimate objects. Michelle drew in a few sketches for good measure.

He leaned in to watch her work, offering suggestions.

“The lamppost really needs eyebrows.” 

“I was getting to that, Peter.”

“Well get there faster, Michelle.”

“You’ve got all these opinions, why don’t you draw the lamppost.”

“I can’t draw.”

“Exactly. Back off.”

“You like it.”

“You’re ruining this experience for me.”

“No I’m not.”

She glared at him. He only leaned in further, blocking her view of the page.

“I think your lines are crooked.”

“I think you’re about to get stabbed in the head.”

They were so close he could feel her breathe. It was a little disorienting. He was almost in her lap, leaning in like this. He grabbed a pen and began adding a mustache to the halfway-there lamppost. Michelle pulled back and propped her elbows on his back, pushing him into the book.

 

\--------

 

They left the library together, walking shoulder to shoulder. They slowed as they approached the street, Peter preparing to turn right, Michelle, left. But before hitting that junction, Peter stopped. He turned to her, clearly speaking to her but avoiding her eyes.

“Hey MJ?”

The playful tone he’d used in the library was gone.

“I need to ask you something. It’s kind of dumb, but—“

“Ask away.” 

“Okay, so...” He started and stopped a few times, looked at the ground, looked at Michelle, looked above her head, and then exhaled audibly. 

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Peter. Speak.”

He swallowed and turned his eyes to hers, looking a little defeated. 

“Do you think it’s wrong that I’m Spider-Man? That it’s me under the mask? I mean, were you... aren’t people, like, expecting someone... better?” His gaze flicked back and forth between her eyes, so earnest she felt like kissing him. 

She wouldn't have guessed he felt vulnerable about something so admirable. She also wouldn't have guessed she'd kiss him as a response. The unexpected comes in droves, apparently. 

The hand on his shoulder slid up to the back of his neck, and she made the step forward it took to press her lips lightly to his. She could feel his cheeks heat up, and before she kissed him again she opened her eyes to see his stricken face, lips barely parted, eyes still closed, deep in it. 

She kissed him a second time, curling her fingers tentatively into the loose fabric of his button down. He turned his head, ever so slightly, and his hands tightened against her back. 

Michelle broke the kiss, brushing her forehead against his then pulling away. 

Peter opened his eyes. He blinked. 

“I think people think Spider-Man is a little older than seventeen,” Michelle started, eyes avoiding his. “And I bet they wouldn’t guess he’s a huge nerd—not counting the people who’ve heard him try and make jokes, obviously—but other than that,” she paused, “I think you’re the kind of person people hope he is. You’re a good guy, Peter.” 

He kept staring. 

“Maybe some people think he’s covered in insect skin, whatever the hell that is, or that he’s got a bunch of extra eyes under the mask, I don’t know.”

As good as it felt to have had his hands on her body, the sense-memory of it awkwardly compelled her to continue filling the silence. She felt like Peter, rambling on.

“But it’s not like anyone would be disappointed.” 

Her words hung in the air for a second before he leaned in as if on autopilot, cupping her face and kissing her square on the mouth. His fingers brushed her ears, and Michelle decided she wanted to live in this moment, soft and close. She deepened the kiss almost immediately and could have moaned for how good it felt with his tongue in her mouth. Peter let out a short groan. She felt electric. He felt like the luckiest idiot in the world.

They pulled apart a few moments later and she reflexively bit her lower lip, staring at him. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“MJ, I really like you.” He paused, then jumped in to clarify. “And not just because you said some really nice things just now. I uh, I’ve liked you for a while.”

His hair was a little mussed up and his face was red. And Michelle was more attracted to him in this moment than she’d ever been. 

“Are you gonna keep talking or are you gonna kiss me again?”

He smiled so endearingly she thought she might break.

 

\-----------

 

Pete: NED NED NEEEEEDDDDDD

NED: Are you okay??

Pete: Yes but also NOT AT ALL

Pete: MJ kissed me

NED: Dude!

Pete: I know!

NED: So you guys are dating now? 

Pete: Literally no idea

 

\------------

 

Peter sat at the desk in his room, staring at nothing in particular. Endorphins from the afternoon had begun to wane, and his mood was sinking a little. If he pepped up it was the times his brain stuck to thoughts of Michelle. Images in his mind flickered between the hair that hung in front of her eyes, tempting him to push it back, and the man who’d been practically comatose in front of him. Michelle kissing him outside the library, the man’s blood-covered hands, Michelle Michelle. 

But he thought of what she’d said to him, that nobody would be disappointed, and he picked up his suit. He wished he’d had the mask on when she’d said those things so he could rewatch that moment. 

He had a responsibility to keep trying, to keep going out in his suit and trying to do good. Maybe hearing he was worth something meant he actually could be. 

 

\------- 

 

As he swung out into the Queens air, Peter let his imagination run rampant. He pictured Michelle greeting him after patrol, lifting his mask off and kissing him dirty. He thought of her long legs and how close she had stood to him earlier. He imagined her in his bed, body pressed up against his, soft and warm and naked. This, he quickly realized, was a terrible idea, since he could feel himself getting hard, and absolutely no one needed to see that. 

Peter landed on a roof and, for the first time since it'd happened, forced himself to think of the botched robbery. 

When he got home, he texted Michelle.

peter: Hey, I was just thinking about you

MJ: is spider-man sexting me

peter: Nope nope no

MJ: peter it’s late

peter: I know, sorry. I just wanted to tell you?

MJ: I’m not going to be mushy texting girl

She didn’t seem to have anything to add to that, and Peter wasn’t sure how to respond. Why hadn’t this gotten any easier after they’d finally kissed? After a few minutes he assumed she’d decided the conversation was over. Then his phone beeped.

MJ: why were you so mopey before? 

peter: Bad Spider-Man morning

MJ: you can talk about it if you want, to me

peter: I’d like that. But nto right now. I’m kind of falling asleep

MJ: probably a good call. we do have to be awake in about five hours

MJ: we actually have to work on this history project at some point tho. tomorrow?

peter: Yeah!

MJ: calm down skippy

peter: Yeah.

MJ: so your place? 

peter: Sounds good

peter: I could go to yours though, if that’s easier

MJ: nah my mom’s got her campaign shit everywhere and it’s kinda obnoxious 

peter: Okay yeah then come to mine. after school?

MJ: I’ll be there

peter: :) :)

MJ: so much enthusiasm

peter: Well I’m enthused

MJ: just because I kissed you once doesn’t mean I have to do it again

peter: Actually you kissed me twice already

MJ: it’s incredible how quickly you make me never want to speak to you again

peter: Nooooo

MJ: i’ll see you tomorrow

peter: Night, MJ

MJ: goodnight spidey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys I've lost pretty much all motivation for this story -- I have some stuff outlined for about three more chapters, but I'm thinking of abandoning/deleting. Thank you to everyone who's been so nice to give kudos/comment! If anyone really wants this story to continue I'll try to do it for you, so let me know, but otherwise I'll quietly delete


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I found my mojo and I'm back on this story. It's definitely going to be finished, so you can expect at least three more new chapters coming at you soon. 
> 
> Also: I feel squirmy writing two seventeen year olds—they're seventeen in this story—getting sexy. It's obviously consenting but like is it okay to write about underage people getting it on? I'm concerned. The story could technically be shifted to all be happening in college if I worked at it a little. Please tell me what you think. 
> 
> I upped this from Teen to Mature, just in case. Let me know if you think that's too much - there'll be mentions of sex later but I haven't decided if there'll be full on smut in here, because the plot's about to take over. Let me know if you have a strong opinion about it. 
> 
> And that's that on that. Thank you for reading and please comment if you have thoughts!!!

Peter waited by Michelle’s locker. 

When she rounded the corner he saw the rat’s nest of her hair and the perma-scowl on her face, and he smiled. 

Absorbed in thought, Michelle took a minute to notice him. Her eyebrows lifted for half a second before her face settled into neutral. Peter wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was it so unexpected that he’d want to see her first thing? Had he blown yesterday out of proportion in his head? His anticipatory excitement shifted into hot shame in the few seconds it took her to arrive at the locker. 

MJ spoke first. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” She seemed, if anything, cautious, which brought Peter’s mood back toward the positive. Unless she was nervous because she regretted kissing him, not because things are awkward after you expose feelings for somebody by unexpectedly making out with them. 

It was only four minutes into the school day, he’d said all of one word, and Peter felt like he’d been spun around like a top. 

“So I have class now,” said Michelle. 

“Oh yeah, me too.” He squinted, remembering his excuse for waiting at her locker in the first place. “Actually the same one.”

She let out a slow “yep.” Michelle moved past him to open her locker and unload her backpack.

Peter swallowed. Was he allowed to acknowledge yesterday? She’d seemed lighthearted about it over text, but maybe she was serious about never kissing him again. Should he wait for her to bring it up? He didn’t really know what to say anyway. You’re a good kisser, MJ. Can I just be your boyfriend already? Do you wanna put that notebook back in your locker and cut class and make out forever? I had this dream last night where you— 

“Stop that.” 

What’d he do, what’d he do, oh god had he said something out loud?

“Stop tapping your leg. It’s making me nervous.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” 

“We’re gonna be late to class, loser.” He softened at the name. MJ’s still MJ. Everything’s fine until she says differently. 

They walked to class, shoulders consciously not touching, steps unconsciously in sync.

 

\-------

 

That was their only class together, and she had a meeting during lunch, so Peter waited anxiously for the end of the day when MJ was due at his place. They agreed she’d come over at 5. May was out of town for a friend’s wedding, and Peter’s mind was going wild with the implications of him and Michelle alone. Together. In private. Then he reminded himeself that hardly being able to look her in the eye earlier didn’t foreshadow an afternoon much more exciting than the History project. 

A few minutes past 5, Peter heard a knock. 

“Hey I just followed a delivery guy in, sorry if you needed that key buzz-to-knock time,” she said as he opened the door.

“It’s actually all good. I put the middle school pictures away ten minutes ago.”

“I knew you in middle school, you dweeb. The glasses and braces can’t hide from this memory.”

“Okay wow I was kidding, and now this is uncomfortable.”

They settled reflexively at the kitchen table. For a few minutes they shuffled items around, plugging in laptops, pulling out notecards. 

Things felt normal so far, Peter thought, and normal was, if not like yesterday, at least not quite as awkward as this morning. That had to be a good sign. 

The longer the silence, though, the less normal it began to feel. Here goes nothing. “Okay. History. So the’s project’s on Charlemagne, right?”

“Apartheid.”

“So I was close.”

Michelle gave Peter’s grinning face the deadest of dead eyes. 

They worked for about ten minutes, researching semi-silently, when Peter noticed Michelle pausing to look at him. It was subtle, but her eyes were definitely scanning his face. She’d look up, look away, and a moment later, repeat the action. He swallowed.

“MJ, do you want a snack or something? I think I’m gonna grab something from the fridge.”

She looked at him for a lot longer than necessary before answering. “No, I’m alright.”

Pushing his chair aside, Peter walked behind her to the fridge. He wanted an excuse to look at her for a minute. He also was kinda hungry. 

She sat cross-legged in the chair, resting her elbows on the table. She chewed the edge of her lip when she focused, and he could see her eyes speeding across lines of text. He’d asked her to partner with him because he wanted the excuse to spend time with her, but it didn’t hurt that she was also one of the smartest people he’d ever met. Michelle didn’t make a show of herself, which made her all the more interesting. She didn’t need you to know anything about her, which made Peter want to know everything. And maybe, after yesterday, she’d let him.

“You get lost in there?” she said without turning.

“No, just uh, just can’t decide what I want.” 

“Right.”

He walked back with a protein bar from the cupboard. 

When Peter got to the table, he held his breath for a moment and pushed his chair right next to Michelle’s. She watched him as he sat down. 

“I thought if we could see each other’s screens we’d, it’d be easier, you know, to work.” 

She turned to the empty tabletop in front of him. “I’m assuming that means you’ll eventually bring your screen over here.” 

“Yes, yes I will.” Peter stood up again to grab his laptop, cursing himself internally.

Settled in again next to Michelle, his protein bar unopened and forgotten on the table, Peter spent the next five minutes unable to read a complete sentence. He wondered whether she wanted him to make a move, whether she wanted him to forget yesterday ever happened, whether she could actually be interested in him or whether the secret identity reveal had temporarily blinded her to Peter Parker. He wondered how she smelled so good and whether he would ever get to put his mouth on her neck. 

“You’re not doing any work, Peter.” 

“Sorry. I—I dunno, I—”

“This is ridiculous.” Michelle shut her laptop, shut his laptop, and grabbed Peter’s hand. With no resistance from him, she interlocked their fingers and, looking at their hands, said, “You like me, right?”

Peter let out a puff of air. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Then kiss me. You’re allowed. And it’s gonna be really annoying if I have to start this thing every time. So just, you know, read the room.” After a second, she added, “I send signals.”

“I’m clearly dumber than you think,” Peter said, unconsciously rubbing his thumb against hers. “I… signals?”

“Like kissing you yesterday, dumbass,” she let out with a huff. “And coming here today. And like, staring at you.” Peter nodded, looking off to the side. 

When Michelle opened her mouth to speak again he cut her off with a kiss, his hand tightening around hers. 

She turned to square herself in front of him, sliding one leg and then the other out of their bent position, and she ran her free hand through his hair, playing with the curls at the base of his neck. Awkward as it was to talk, Peter felt instincts kick in with this, and he stood up, pulled them together towards the couch. 

He settled back into the cushions, letting her make the call of whether to join. Michelle kept their hands linked and, knees brushing his, leaned into his chest to lie down against him. 

Michelle’s mind was always full—inside jokes with herself about various classmates, running commentary on the incompetency of the government, pulsing ambition, a tasklist for school, an ever-shifting to-read list, warm thoughts for Cindy, Ned, Abe, Peter, Peter, Peter—but for what felt like the first time, her mind was blank. 

She wasn’t thinking in words. She wasn’t thinking at all. MJ was feeling the soft curls of Peter’s hair, the rough pads of his fingterips, the heat rising in his neck and face, the solid strength of his body, the wet mint of his mouth, clearly the aftermath of a piece of chewing gum. It was almost like she’d lost all sense of herself, entirely caught up in the feel of him. 

And that’s when she remembered this wasn’t a ride at the fair—you didn’t step on and relinquish control to some pre-set course of left right left. Michelle came back to herself for the second it took to realize that this wasn’t just something to get lost in. It was a chance to figure out what felt good and to do it as much as she wanted.

“Peter.” He looked up at her, pupils blown. “I want you to take my shirt off.” He blinked. 

“Yeah I can do that.” Reaching down further than he’d previously allowed himself to touch, he found the hem of her t-shirt. Before pulling it up, though, he snuck his hands under the fabric, desperate to touch more of her smooth skin. Brushing against the spot just above the button of her jeans, he felt her shiver. Off went the shirt. 

By this point Michelle had moved to straddle him. She sat up, maintaining eye contact as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. 

Peter’s hands rested on her hips as the bra was thrown to the floor. The slight jog of her small breasts as she tossed the bra was definitely the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He threw his head back into a couch pillow and groaned. Michelle smiled. 

She took one of his hands and slowly pressed it to her chest, guiding his fingers against her nipple.

To Peter, everything moved in glorious slow motion. He knew he was hard under her, between her legs, and he was a little worried about coming then, without even having sex of any kind. Half of him was wildly embarrassed at being so transparently gone for her. But with a hand on MJ’s boob it was tough to be all that worried about anything. It was the other half of him that knew he wouldn’t be able to put into words how good this was all feeling, that hoped she could feel him through his jeans and just know. 

“Fuck, MJ.” It was all impossibly better for how she’d brought them here, for how much she wanted this too.

But the more he got into it, squeezing her waist with his free hand, absentmindedly beginning to roll his hips, the more she began to look a little distant, and even though her hand was still over his, still kneading her breast with him, Peter wanted her showing him this wasn’t too far. 

She’d been on him earlier for not reading the room, and maybe he could make the effort to do that. Maybe she’d wanted this but was regretting it now. 

He didn’t want Michelle to regret anything with him. He wanted her to feel more than good. 

“Do you want to stop?” Her hand paused. She didn’t say anything at first, and Peter thought he’d surely fucked it up, when she gave a small nod. He leaned over to find her shirt, but she grabbed his arm. 

“No, it’s okay. Can I just—” she shifted so that they now lay chest to clothed chest, her face next to his. Peter wrapped his arms around her back, and Michelle kissed his cheek. 

“I like you too, you know. I hadn’t said that yet.” Peter exhaled a laugh. 

They lay there for a while not saying anything. It felt good to be held. 

\----------

“I kinda freaked myself out back there,” Michelle said, breaking the silence. 

“You don’t have to explain.”

She pressed her nose under his ear. “You’re gonna think you did something wrong, but you didn’t. It felt good, I mean, it was just a lot of new stuff all at once.” Peter could feel Michelle’s heart beating quickly against his chest. This was a new kind of vulnerability from her, and despite her offhand delivery, he could literally feel that this was a big deal. “You noticed like, immediately, though. It felt like you could read my mind, so, major points for that.” 

Trying to say I’m in way over my head with how much I like you, Peter held her cheek in his hand and kissed her long and slow. 

A few minutes later, it began to feel conspicuous that she was the only one half-naked, and Michelle fished her shirt off the floor, slipping it on as they untangled themselves. 

Upright now, they looked at each other. 

“So.”

Peter desperately didn’t want to break this moment, but he couldn’t not talk about what they were doing. He couldn’t not put a word on it. 

“So,” she echoed, with a small grin.

What the hell, Peter thought, just say it. Just say something.

“So… date me?”

Michelle’s eyebrows shot up. “So, date me? You’re going with ‘so, date me?’ Jesus Christ, Parker.”

“What, I should have added a ‘please’?” 

Michelle was laughing now. “That would have been so much worse. Which is hard to imagine, honestly.”

He couldn’t help but laugh too. “Well, what would you have wanted me to say?” After a pause, he added, a little quieter, “What were you gonna say?”

Swiping her bra off the floor, Michelle got up and walked back into the kitchen. “I don't know. I think it’d be weird to go on a date with you.” Peter’s heart sank, and he did his face-saving best preparing a nonchalant agreement. He’d start with Oh yeah no of course. Totally weird. Wouldn’t want to mess up the friendship. The friendship that involved partial nudity and lots of tongue. The friendship that maybe wasn’t a friendship anymore now that both parties admitted there were feelings. What was MJ saying? It’s like losing physical contact had shattered his ability to read her. 

“I just mean we already know we can hang out. I don’t need to go out to some lame dinner with you and pretend I don’t already know your embarassing secrets. We could just. Be together.” It sounded like it took physical force to get those last few words out with any volume. A small voice in Peter’s head reassured him Michelle was just as awkward as he was, only in different ways. 

“I don’t have embarassing secrets. I have cool secrets. Spider-Man is cool.” Peter was up from the couch now, approaching MJ, smiles growing on both their faces.

“I think voluntarily leaving the house clothed solely in long underwear is very uncool.”

“It’s not—you know what—” and his lips were on hers again. 

Michelle pulled back. “So, date me? You really said that to me?”

“Shut up.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look, it's an extra long chapter, just for youu. please let me know what you think! big love to everyone leaving comments and kudos, you bring honor to my cow

Ned was having a shit day. Nothing that big had happened, he’d just turned in a paper he knew was godawful that he’d written on two hours of sleep. And he’d been called out for accidentally napping during Calc. And lunch had been lonely—where was Peter?—and he just felt like shit. And here he was, early to the library for Decathlon practice, the bright spot of his schedule—the place where he’d be surrounded by friends, the place where he was guaranteed to see Peter, who hadn’t texted him back since yesterday—and not even Michelle was around. 

She and Ned had been texting a lot in the past week since she found out about Spider-Man. They’d even had a few long conversations completely un-Peter-related. He felt pretty sure he could call her without texting first, or snap a weird face and she’d send one right back. 

She was surprisingly much easier to talk to than he’d imagined, and they felt like genuine buddies now. And he knew she was always, always at least ten minutes early to Decathlon, setting up or reading in the corner, waiting for everyone to filter in. So why wasn’t she here? 

Shit day continued to be shit. 

As far as Ned knew it was still unresolved, the whole they-kissed-but-is-it-a-thing-or-just-a-kiss business. It occurred to him that not hearing from Peter was most likely a bad thing—it would sting to admit things didn’t go your way, even to your best friend. 

So when Ned went to go look for people, opened the door to the library’s small reading room and found Michelle, he was, in a word, surprised. 

Surprised because she was backed flush against the wall with her hands up under Peter’s sweatshirt, with Peter’s face mashed so close to hers that Ned imagined it’d be hard for either of them to open their eyes. 

If a best friend is good for anything it’s fucking with you in your most triumphant moments, so Ned gave a whistle and started clapping. The looks on their faces really did the trick turning his day around.

They jumped apart with wide eyes.

“Hey don’t look at me like that. If you wanted a private moment you could have tried a little harder than literally inside the library your friends are all coming to for a regularly scheduled meeting. I’ll leave though, because gross. But also good for you guys. But also I definitely don’t want to watch, so I’ll see you kids in ten.”

He walked backwards out of the room, making a show of flicking the light switch off and closing the door. 

Peter snorted. Michelle shoved him. 

“I told you it would be weird making out at school.”

“You jumped me!”

“That’s beside the point, Parker.” 

 

\---------

 

For the next two weeks things were awesome. Michelle’s mom was running for Senate, and her campaign had her at town halls and rallies and cookouts all over the state, with Michelle’s father in tow on weekends. Which meant that Michelle, an only child, had an entire apartment to herself on Friday and Saturday nights. And that Michelle, a newly minted girlfriend, had exactly the amount of supervision she wanted when taking her boyfriend’s clothes off. 

“This thing’s due at the end of the month, and it’s worth forty percent of our grade,” Peter said, dropping his backpack beside the couch.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Michelle flipped the lock on the door and walked up behind him, dropping her bag beside his. 

“MJ.” Peter tried sounding serious, but it was difficult to be stern with the way she’d wrapped her arms around his middle and was kissing the back of his neck. 

“Seriously Peter, you skip more school than anyone I know, there’s no way you’re all that worried about this project.” 

“You ever think that because I miss so much school I have good reasons to be worried about it?”

“You ever think I just wanna feel your abs some more?” She started lifting his shirt.

Peter couldn’t not smile at that, leaning back to whisper in her ear. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Okay, Spider-Man. Teach me all about doing the right thing.” 

There were probably more affectionate things he could have said in response besides ‘shut up,’ but verbal creativity wasn’t at an all time high with her hands on him. 

Michelle tossed his shirt over the back of the couch and repeated the action with her own. She met his eyes and walked towards her room. Hand on the doorknob, she shrugged and said, “If you really want to work, we can do that. If you want to follow me in here, though, we can do that too.” She watched Peter close his eyes and groan. “I mean, you really liked my room last week. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“You’re killing me.” 

It’d been a long time since Peter felt like he had a safety net, a real witness and partner and shoulder to lean on, and he still wasn’t sure how he’d stumbled into it all with Michelle. The relationship wasn’t super established—everything was still pulse-racingly new—but it felt like a switch had flipped and it was now the easiest thing in the world to be with her, to want to be with her, all the time, to ignore everything else. It felt so right that Peter let himself live at the touch of her fingertips, telling himself he’d be too distracted to do anything else well anyway. 

He didn’t have anything to hide from her, and when she looked him in the eye she wasn’t seeing some projection of a little kid or a hero, she was seeing whatever he actually was. It was terrifying and liberating and also sexy as hell, because the person she saw somehow made her want to take her clothes off. 

Everything felt amazing. At least it had until earlier in the morning when Peter realized he’d donned his suit exactly three times in the last two weeks. It would have been four times, not that four times was even close to normal for a two-week period, except that May demanded he stay in on Tuesday, saying he’d practically disappeared over the weekend and had been “out patrolling” constantly the week before. 

May knew he was now dating MJ—he couldn’t hold in the news very long, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face—but since it was normal for him to be out as Spider-Man most nights, he wasn’t sure she’d put two and two together. So he’d stayed in Tuesday and talked to May about the state of crime in the city and a math test he’d aced and the latest episode of her favorite medical show and Michelle’s mom’s chances in the Senate race, and he’d spent the whole time wishing he were with MJ instead. It hadn’t occurred to him once to feel what used to be an unshakeable itch for his mask. 

The magic of MJ was that she’d made his guilt disappear. He’d carried the constant stress of not being a good enough hero or good enough student or good enough nephew for almost two years before finding this sudden release. He was split so many different ways with no end in sight until, on the exact same day he’d suffered a brutal blow to his confidence, Michelle Jones had grabbed him and kissed him and said he was good. 

The magic of MJ was that when she saw good in Peter, she made him see it too. 

But earlier today when their History teacher reminded them that the quarter was coming to an end, when Peter focused on the words “forty percent of your grade,” and when, to top things off, the lecture ended with an off-the-cuff reference to the Avengers, he practically saw his responsibilities wipe the lust-fog from his eyes. 

There was only so much he could neglect because it didn’t make him feel as good as she did.

So a shirtless Michelle waiting for him in her room presented quite the conundrum. 

Peter sighed and picked his t-shirt up off the couch. He didn’t want to even step in her room because he knew he wouldn’t come out of it, so he called out her name. MJ heard the tone of his voice and emerged, arms crossed. 

“You’re not seriously saying you want to work right now. We’re not going to have entire weekends to ourselves much longer, and you know we’re smart enough to knock this project out no problem in like a day if we have to. Come on, Peter. Relax. Take your shirt back off. It’s what the ladies want.”

His expression didn’t say what she wanted it to.

“MJ, I can’t do this anymore.” Michelle’s posture changed and her face went blank, and Peter immediately realized what he’d said. “No, I don't mean this,” gesturing dramatically between him and MJ, “I mean right now I can’t be doing this. I haven’t gone on patrol in four days. I can’t keep putting it off just to mess around.” 

“But what if you did though.” 

“I’m serious. It’s not an ego thing to say people rely on me being out there. So I have to be Spider-Man right now or I have to work on the thing so I can be Spider-Man later.”

“Maybe the real Spider-Man was the girlfriend you made along the way.”

“MJ.”

The half-second gut punch of his misleading ‘I can’t do this anymore’ had Michelle in joke-defense mode, but it passed as quickly as it had come over her when she saw the sincerity in his eyes.

“I know,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “I don’t mean to ask you to not do that stuff. I’m just a little selfish.” 

“You’re not selfish.”

“I am. But in a normal way. You’re just freakishly selfless, so you wouldn’t understand.” 

“It’s not like that.” 

“Oh. Dude. It is.”

“I just can’t have fun all the time,” Peter said, leaning unconsciously into her. “I don’t want to be a bad boyfriend, I just can’t be this distracted.”

MJ gave him a quick kiss. “Don’t get in your head about it. It’s okay. And don’t say you ‘can’t do this anymore’ unless you’re breaking up with me. But don’t do that either.”

He looked off to the side smiling and shaking his head. “You know there’s no way it’s me that breaks us up.” 

Michelle squeezed his arm. “Okay, Parker, you need to get out of here. Group projects are dumb and you’d slow me down anyway, so I’ll do research for a while and you go catch some bad guys. Two birds one stone. More time for you to flirt with me later.”

“Okay.”

“But swear you’ll come back tonight.”

It suddenly hit Peter that she still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and so, giving her a once over, he said, “If I don’t come back tonight, you can trust it’s because I’m dead.” 

“Don’t be morbid, loser.”

“Aw, you actually look a little sad. This relationship has made you soft.”

“Har har har, so I’ll admit to not wanting you dead. But it’s not about feelings, it’s because we were really getting somewhere the other day with your hands, and I don’t want you to be dead if you could be fingering me.” 

“Jesus Christ.” MJ had this grin Peter would swear she only used with him, and it was his new favorite thing—that and everything else she did.

“Good thing you wear a mask, wouldn’t want New York to see how hard you’re blushing.”

“Hard’s a good word for it.”

“Alright perv, you gotta go.”

 

\----------

 

The night’s patrol started out as obligation, but two seconds in, being Spider-Man felt as good as ever. Peter decided to make a big loop of the city, swinging to be seen in as many places as possible, to remind people he was there. He didn’t need to spend tonight looking for trouble; he could spend it strengthening Spider-Man the symbol.

He made it to Brooklyn then swung north over the traffic into Manhattan, flying past the masses of people out on a Friday night. Onwards through the Columbia buildings in Morningside Heights and toward Yankee Stadium, Peter had a long and invigorating stretch of plain fun. It wasn’t until he’d eventually crossed back into Queens that he saw something to stop for.

The tall cement of an underpass, poorly lit but attention grabbing with the contrast of grey backdrop and red paint, read MAKE AMERICA WHITE AGAIN, with a giant swastika in the middle.

“Hey Karen, do I have any kind of web combo that can erase that?”

“You have 576 web shooter combinations, but they all use the same base web formula, which cannot directly strip paint. Would you like me to contact Tony Stark to request adjustments?”

“No, no, thanks Karen, I’ll figure something out. This is so fucked up. Hey, how much force can that wall take before the structural integrity’s damaged?”

Karen calculated and read out a number that, out of context, didn’t help Peter much. 

So he made a fist and struck the wall. It cracked spectacularly. He’d been careful not to use his full strength, but was still impressed with the results.

“Okay, Karen. How many times can I do that, before the structural integrity’s damaged?”

“Using the average force of your previous strike, you can do that three more times.”

It wasn’t a pain-free exercise, the energy of each blow reverberating back through his arms, but with a mere two more hits, enough of the wall had been cracked, chipped, and blasted apart that the massive swastika had no center and the words were illegible. 

After that, he swung around the neighborhood, eyes peeled for more of the same work. He felt sick seeing the same message in the same style in varying sizes on two more walls, on the side of a derelict building, and on a mailbox. All four were quickly destroyed, and he was glad no one tried to stop him. 

Peter swung around for another half hour before deciding to call it a night. In that time he stopped a mugging and reunited a small dog, running free with a leash trailing behind it, with its frantic owner. The sun had set and he was ready to get back to his neighborhood, take a shower, and see MJ. 

 

\----------

 

Michelle had been putting together the beginnings of their presentation for two hours when she heard a tap on the window. It didn’t matter that she knew it was Peter, that she’d been expecting him—Michelle saw a bright red masked figure watching her through a window three stories up and she jumped. 

“That’s gonna freak me out every time,” she said, sliding the window open.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling off the mask, chuckling. Michelle eyed the ruffled hair and cheeks red from exertion with visible fondness and, biting her lip, pressed the spider on his chest. 

Nothing happened.

“I thought that’s how you make it come off.”

“It is. But it’s a sensor thing with my gloves too, not just pushing it. Otherwise people’d have a pretty devastatingly simple way to humiliate me mid-fight. Plus the suit’d be falling off all the time when I leaned on things—it’d be a mess. Here, try.”

Michelle took the hand he’d extended and pressed his palm to the spider. The suit slackened. 

“Isn’t it cool?” 

MJ liked knowing Peter was Spider-Man for a lot of reasons, but one of the biggest was getting to see how excited he could be about it. It was a weight on him to be sure, but when things were good, Peter lit up. She knew he liked having a way to show off to her, to try and impress her, but she was most charmed by the fact that a superhero who saved literal lives thought the coolest thing about himself was the way his suit worked. That most of the time he wasn’t trying to show off at all, he just wanted MJ to be in on the fun.

The boy was a huge dork, and everything was better with him in the room. 

“You’re a huge dork.”

“Oh, I know. Hey can I take a shower here?”

While he showered, MJ ordered food and thought about him naked a room away. She thought about interrupting, stripping down and appearing in the fog outside the glass, tapping on the shower door like he had at the window, but the fantasy felt a lot safer than the reality of it. She felt completely secure when they were together, exploring each other and slowly expanding their boundaries, but the idea of a surprise leap forward—neither had even seen the other fully naked yet—was uncomfortable. He’d probably like it, but probably wasn’t enough to even keep her wet at the idea. It’d be fun at some point down the line though.

Lost in her thoughts, Michelle didn’t hear the shower stop or notice Peter walking up behind her, so she jumped for the second time in fifteen minutes when he put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Goddamnit, Parker!”

“It’s not my fault you’re so tense,” he smirked, massaging her shoulder lightly with the offending hand. She turned and laced their fingers together as she spoke. 

“Did you tell May you were sleeping here?”

“I told her Ned’s?”

“Do you think she believes you?”

“I don’t exactly have a history of sleeping around, but she knows we’re dating, so I don’t know. If anything, with my track record if she thinks I lied it’d be so I could be with Tony Stark.”

“Gross,” Michelle quipped, raising her eyebrows.

“You know what I mean.” 

“I could roast you into eternity,” she kissed him, “and you’d deserve it,” she kissed him again, “but I’ll let this one slide.” Michelle was up and pushing him to the couch. “You smell like me. It’s kind of weird.”

“I smell amazing. Who knew apricot was the thing to smell like.” 

Michelle wanted to crawl into his clothes with him. Peter’s body was warm, his shirt and sweatpants were soft, his eyes were lost on her, and they had the next however many hours they wanted to themselves.

“Hey, what’s the food situation?” Peter traced Michelle’s shoulder blades through her shirt.

“Maybe forty minutes?”

“And they’ll come up?”

“Yeah, we don’t have to be kempt enough to go down to the street, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He closed his eyes as she kissed his jaw. 

“Yeah that’s probably what I was getting at.” 

In the same way that wearing his suit turned Peter almost into someone else, holding MJ took away his insecurities. Up close and knowing she liked it, he felt a strange kind of confidence to go with his instincts, to touch her and press against her and enjoy every second of it without shame.

In a matter of minutes Michelle had shed her shirt and bra, and Peter was working on unbuttoning her pants while his mouth was on her chest and her hands ran through his damp hair. When she slid her legs out of the pants he tugged off his shirt in one quick motion. What had been warmth from the shower was now a shared warmth of arousal.

With MJ on her back and Peter lying between her bare legs, things slowed down. He kissed his way again down her neck to her breast, taking one nipple in his mouth and rolling the other under his fingers. She unconsciously arched her back for more, skimming her hands along the muscles of his sides. 

He moved lazily up her body, nestling his face, which she held delicately, softly, into her neck, sucking and kissing and ghosting a bite on her earlobe. Hearing his breath, feeling its heat, lying under him and supporting his weight, she wasn’t sure how much there was gravity and how much it was all her pulling him close.

Peter could hear Michelle getting more and more turned on. He heard her uneven breathing and took her hand, stretching their arms above her head, above the wild brown curls splayed out on the cushion. He luxuriated in the heat and scent and pulse of her neck as she started asking for more. Her free hand nudged his shoulder, urging him lower. He’d do anything she wanted.

He kissed her hard, tasting her mouth, wanting her to lick him, to taste him, to be right there with him. She loved this, the feeling that it’s not just bodies, it’s me and you, me and you.

She squeezed his hand—yes Peter, please Peter—and he inched down her body. 

A few days before, she’d guided his hands under her skirt, sliding him past the elastic of her underwear, into her. She’d rubbed herself with his fingers, showing him what she wanted, kissing him as she did it and then, when he went to break apart to get a closer look at what he was doing with her, she held his head so they were face to face, not wanting him to break eye contact.

“Look at how you make me feel,” she’d said, blinking and breathing open-mouthed as she’d told him, “two fingers, yeah, that feels so good, god it feels so good, Peter.”

He’d seen her come, and as beyond sexy as that had been, he wanted to see himself going inside her. He’d jerked off the night before thinking about it, and it was about the only thing in his mind now.

She was just in her underwear, and that was the closest to naked she’d been in front of him. He slid his hand against her skin between her hip and the cotton, watching her face.

“MJ?”

She nodded. Slowly, two parts nervous and one part reverent, Peter pulled off her underwear. His life kept getting better. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and if she wasn’t totally sure, slightly self conscious in this place where she’d been a kid, now naked on the couch with a boy whose hands were on her hips, the question brought her back to Peter. And Peter made everything disappear that wasn’t right now. And right now, she wanted him to touch her.

“I’m okay,” and, to make sure, “are you okay?”

Peter would have laughed if he weren’t overcome with fondness. This girl.

“I’m okay,” he said, muffled as he smiled into a kiss pressed to her thigh.

Michelle needed him to start doing something before her brain took her out of the moment again and made her nervous. She took a small pillow from behind her and whacked him. “Don’t just look. Go.”

Peter scoffed, grabbing the pillow and moving forward to place it above her head, leaning in and kissing her as he did so. As she cupped his face, he brought his hand between her legs and repeated the motions she’d guided him through before. Massaging her wetness onto his fingers, he rolled circles on her clit with his thumb as they kissed. Then he pulled back and watched himself press a finger inside her, first one, then a second. 

It was slow and tentative until it wasn’t and Michelle was rolling her hips and squeezing Peter’s shoulder as she felt pressure building. 

“Can you use your mouth? Do you want to?” He wanted to. 

When Michelle came, pushing Peter off of her—“it’s too much, it’s too much, oh god”—she didn’t let go of his arm and quickly pulled him back into her body, adjusting herself so he had space to lie next to her. He kissed her. 

“I like you naked.” 

Michelle laughed, still easing back into reality. “You should try it sometime.” 

She couldn’t see it, not having opened her eyes yet, but she could feel him go still.

“You don’t have—we don’t have to do anything else, I—”

“Take your pants off, Parker.”

At that moment the buzzer went off.

"Food! Keep your pants on, Parker." Getting up to run into her room and let Peter grab the food, MJ turned to him and kissed his shoulder. "The night is young."


	7. Chapter 7

Peter sat on the roof of MJ’s building watching the sun come up, so deep in his head he was barely aware of the light. Sometimes he forgot he didn’t have a mom or dad. May and Ben had been everything a kid could want a mom and dad to be, but sometimes, thought Peter, sometimes looking at a face and seeing yourself in it gave you silent validation, a sort of unspoken permission to exist. Who knows. Maybe it didn’t. He couldn’t be sure. 

Whatever he was feeling was more than a kind of cosmic loneliness. It wasn’t about being alone. Having May, having Ned, Peter never felt really alone. But he felt different, even before the spider. A little out of place. A little like he was a fluke occupying space that didn’t belong to him. It was like there was a life he was supposed to have—a normal timeline—but so much unexpected, crazy shit happened, so much changed so fast, that instead of shifting into a new normal, his timeline snapped, and he was left riding the rootless piece. Now even more so. Now, post-spider, he wasn’t just some orphaned kid—he was a science experiment. 

The sky glowed orange, and the air sent goosebumps up his arms. He had a girlfriend now, and awesome as it was, he’d woken up next to MJ terrified. 

He’d had sleep issues for a while. They started after Ben died and were maybe at their worst right after being semi-crushed by the parking garage, but even though they got better, his sleep troubles never went away. These days any stress, Spider-Man or otherwise, manifested in nightmares. 

This morning it’d been one of the dreams Peter’d had a few times before. Sort of.

He’s lying on his back in the middle of the street, no one’s around and it’s oddly peaceful, then out of nowhere a huge square anvil drops from the sky heading right toward him. That’s when he realizes he’s stuck to the street with his own webs and he can’t move. The anvil gets within an inch of his face and he wakes up, heart feeling like it might burst from the adrenaline. 

This time, though, he was lying in the street and MJ was there next to him. And the anvil started falling and he got up to run and it was her that couldn’t move, her that was webbed to the ground. And in this dream, before the anvil came crashing down, he’d laid down on top of her so she wouldn’t be alone. 

And waking up like that, despite seeing MJ next to him perfectly fine, Peter had to get outside. He couldn’t have an anxiety attack next to her—he didn’t want to wake her, but mostly he didn’t want her to see him like that. 

He’d slid out of the bed and put on his sweatpants and t-shirt before opening the window in the living room he’d entered the day before. He’d crawled up the brick in the dark and was on top of the building, legs dangling over the edge, in less than a minute. 

Peter wasn’t sure what it was exactly that had his brain panicked. There wasn’t always a direct, singular cause, and he knew it was more trouble than it was worth to try to figure one out, but he couldn’t help it. By the time the first pink whispers of dawn appeared, he was physically calm but lost in his mind. 

It was possible, thought Peter, that he was nervous about the relationship with Michelle turning into a real thing. There were real feelings and a real connection that Peter didn’t have to work hard to imagine himself coming to rely on. But historically, having things meant losing things. Especially people. Even just wanting someone ended badly—look at Liz. And having someone… 

Maybe Peter Parker wasn’t supposed to exist. His parents were long gone. His broken timeline maybe made more sense as two timelines: Peter, and then Spider-Man. A nobody in a mask. If he could just learn to stop needing people, wanting things, he might stop having nightmares. He could give all his focus to being a better hero. And it wouldn’t matter that he didn’t feel like a normal kid, because he wouldn’t be trying to be one. 

The full round Saturday sun was visible now, and Peter didn’t know how to go back to Michelle. He couldn’t actually give up being Peter Parker, and he didn’t want to. But just having the thought, the what-if, alternate universe thought of stepping out of a life that kept glitching—it had him in a sort of haze. He wouldn’t feel safe until he had something that couldn’t be taken away from him. But he didn’t know what that was.

That’s when the door to the roof opened with a squeak and a clang. 

Michelle paused for a minute just looking at him, Peter looking right back, before she spoke.

“What’s the deal, Parker?”

“Hey, sorry.”

“I don’t have a ton of experience with this, but I think it’s universally considered weird to just leave the other person in bed like that.” 

“Sorry, MJ. I had to get some air.” 

Michelle wasn’t sure how to take that. Peter’d turned back to face the sun. He wasn’t looking at her, and something was clearly bothering him. 

Falling asleep the night before, she’d felt a rare sort of peace. Peter was warm, he was there, he was holding her to him, and he was telling her how right it felt to him, how much he liked her, how much her grumpy self made him smile, how he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. They’d talked like you talk when the lights are out and no one’s around and every word feels like I see you I know you I love you.

Did he regret it? Did he wake up next to her and wish he were alone? Had she said something wrong? Had he realized she was more in it than he?

“You could’ve left a note or something.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize how long I’d be up here.”

“Stop saying sorry.”

“Sor— Right. Yeah.” 

“Peter, not to be that girl, but did I do something? You’re being kinda… I don’t even know.”

Registering her tone even before the words—cautious, self-conscious, very un-MJ—Peter snapped out of his stupor.

“No no no, Michelle, no,” he said in a rush as he got up and jogged over to where she stood, one foot propping the door open. “I just, I had a weird dream, and I needed some air to shake it off. I didn’t want to wake you up. And then up here I just kind of got lost in my head.” He forced a smile. “That’s all.” 

Michelle eyed him closely, unconvinced. “Peter, are you okay?”

It took half a second, but he nodded.

“Before I saw your suit still in the room I thought you’d left to do superhero stuff.” She chewed on her lip. “And then I thought you’d just left.” 

“I’m sorry, MJ. I really thought I’d be right back, before you were awake.”

“It’s okay.”

There was weird tension in the air. It felt like Peter was looking anywhere but at her, and all Michelle wanted was to get off the roof. It was cold in more ways than one. 

“Wanna go downstairs?”

“Yeah yeah. I’ll walk with you.” 

“Not gonna brick-stick your way down the wall?”

“I’d rather walk with you I think.” He reached out for her hand, and she took it. Walking with her, Peter repeated in his head that she was here and nothing bad had happened and it was just nightmares messing with his head, that everything was fine. 

Back in her apartment, they hadn’t said a word since the roof, and the silence was painful. Peter went to the bathroom and Michelle took a seat on the couch. She’d hoped they’d wake up together and put on Netflix, maybe watch a show or just make out with it in the background. But now she was hoping he might just leave.

She picked up her phone to check the time when she got a text. From Peter.

peter: So this is awkward

Looking up, she saw him standing in the doorway from her room. 

“What are you doing?”

peter: I don’t like this and don’t know how to make things not awkward so here’s a meme

His next text was the screenshot of a tweet.  
_________________________________

@GoodZilla 

[doctor looking at my xrays]

doctor: this is exactly what i was afraid of

me: what

doctor: skeletons  
_________________________________

“Peter.”

peter: I know you’re trying not to smile MJ

peter: You want to laugh I see it

MJ looked over at him, still standing across the room, just as he glanced up from his phone, bashful smile on his face. His eyes flicked back down to his phone.

peter: Skeletons not your thing? I have a buff kim kardashian one. You’re a buff kim kardashian kind of girl, right?

“Would you put down your phone?”

peter: You have to say it’s not awkward anymore

“It’s not awkward anymore.”

peter: This time with feeling

“For fuck’s sake, Peter.” 

Both of them were struggling to contain their smiles, and Peter walked closer to the couch. He bent forward, his face an inch from hers, and as she parted her lips he whispered, “I didn’t mean to make it weird. Can we start today over?” Michelle nodded slowly, their noses brushing. 

And he kissed her. 

 

\----------

 

NED: Have you seen MJ’s mom’s campaign poster out by the public library?

Pete: The absurdly huge one? Kinda hard to miss ?

NED: So you haven’t seen it recently. Somebody messed with it. 

Pete: ?

NED: It’s reeeeeal scary

NED: You were gonna see MJ this weekend right? Don’t let her see it. Maybe spidey can tear it down?

Pete: What’s on it? Pic?

Ned sent a picture of the poster, which was really more like a miniature billboard. On it, Sandra Jones’ face was covered with a racial slur, and a red line had been drawn across her neck with a few graphic details. 

Pete: What the actual fuck!! Remind me to tell you about a thing I saw yesterday

NED: What’d you see? So you’ll take it down?

Pete: Can’t right now but yeah of course. I’ll tell you later, thanks man 

NED: You’re with MJ right now aren’t you. It’s like. You’re one person now.

Peter took a quick close up snap of Michelle’s sleeping face, nestled into his shirt.

NED: Aw she looks almost non menacing

Peter tried not to snort and wake her up.

Pete: She got two thirds of the way through the Fellowship of the Ring. It was a good effort 

NED: Duuuuuude that makes me want to binge the trilogy. Saturday night plans: check

Pete: Yeah u think I stopped watching when she fell asleep? Because not

NED: Nice

 

\--------

 

Peter couldn’t stop thinking about the photo Ned sent. The repeated motion of putting his phone down and picking it up again to look at the picture jostled Michelle awake. 

“How are the hobbits?” she mumbled before opening her eyes.

“Hey, sleepy.”

“You make a good cushion.”

“Thanks, I’ll add that to the resume. But um, actually, MJ I have a question.” Peter paused the movie. “Has your mom gotten any threats because of her campaign?”

“Wow, segways are for kids. Uh, yeah. Of course she has.” Michelle rubbed her eyes and looked at Peter with one eyebrow raised. 

“Like real ones? Does she have security?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I’m just asking. I saw some white supremacist graffiti the other day kind of near here, and I was just wondering if she’s, you know, experiencing that.” 

“Are you kidding? Of course she’s getting threats. Death threats. All kinds of threats. Of course she is, Peter, come on. She’s black and she’s running for a position of authority while being black.” Michelle propped herself up and her brow furrowed as she spoke. “My dad gets threats because his white self married her and had a mixed kid. These people can’t spell for shit and we don’t take them all that seriously, but of course there are threats.” And after a pause, “Okay, I’m up now. I’m gonna make some tea.”

She climbed off of Peter. He felt a little bit like an idiot and at the same time increasingly worried. 

“But she has security? Good security?”

“What, you want to audition?” His silence made her turn around. “Yes, Peter, she has security. Is there something I should be worried about?”

“One of your mom’s posters got marked up. Ned saw it today.” A poster. Good grief. MJ grabbed a mug and found a tea bag.

“Look, the fucking neo nazis haven’t been shamed enough to stay in their basements, but my mom’s got way more good people on her side than bad people doodling on posters. I mean that’s fucked up, but she’s got security, and they monitor things, and there’s not a lot else we should be focused on besides making sure she’s voted into office.” Watching Peter’s face, MJ could tell he was forming some kind of plan. “And we don’t need some kind of white savior bullshit.” 

“What? MJ—” Sometimes, thought Michelle, he was so easy to read. That was another weird thing about earlier, when she had no idea what was going on in his head. She poured water into the kettle and started it heating.

“If Spider-Man swung in and knocked out a protester or whatever at a rally, the story would be about him, not my mom. But she’s the one facing this shit. She’s the one putting herself in danger. And no offense, but as much as Spider-Man can beat up bad guys, she’s gonna be the one changing the system and fighting the bigger picture problems.”

“Spider-Man’s not necessarily white.” It took no time after he said it for Michelle to retort. 

“You sound pretty white, Peter.” And really, he realized, there was no arguing that.

“Okay, okay, I get it. But what if something happened? A lot of Toomes’ weapons are still out there, and no one knows who has them. What if somebody tried to pull something the next time she gives a public speech? I mean is it more important that she looks like she’s in control or that she’s safe?”

Michelle was done with this. Was some graffiti the first tip off to Peter that racism was still a thing? “I’ll tell my mom about the poster, and I’ll ask her if she feels like she needs extra protection, but a little graffiti isn’t, like, news.” She looked away, down to the water as small bubbles started to appear.

Against her own words, MJ was getting a little nervous at the urgency in Peter’s voice. How good were those Spidey senses again? At the same time though, what the hell, Peter, acting like he had to teach her that dangerous racists existed. Hot streaks of different emotions were coursing through her. 

“I just feel like these people aren’t trying to hide like they used to. And I don’t know all the time if I’m doing the right thing, but helping your mom would be so clearly the right thing. I can just hang around at her next event, just show people they won’t get away with making her a target.” He didn’t understand why Michelle didn’t want him to help. “You don’t want to lose a parent, MJ.”

The last line put her over the edge. 

“Okay, we’re not talking about this anymore. Do you think I don’t care about my own mother? Do you think you’re the first person to realize she might be at some kind of risk? Also, protecting her should be about her, not about you feeling good about yourself! Is that what this morning was about? You’re spending too much time with me, so you’re not being a good Spider-Man and now you have to make up for it by telling me my mom’s gonna die if you’re not there watching? My mom’s fine, Peter. She’s safe, and I don’t need you fucking freaking me out!” 

The kettle shut off, water at a boil. The subtle click of it emphasized the silence that’d taken over the room.

MJ had trouble looking at Peter. She’d been cuddled up on him napping away, and three minutes into consciousness they were in this hot mess of a conversation. She knew he’d meant well, but she was pissed, and she didn’t have to apologize for that. He was still sitting on the couch, having apparently the same trouble looking at her. 

“I’m sorry,” he said after a minute, his voice trailing off, unsure where exactly to go from there. 

Michelle realized she’d forgotten to add the water to her mug. As she poured it in and added the bag, she tried to decide what to say next. 

Peter beat her to it. “But I think you should consider it.”

And maybe she should, thought Michelle. But maybe he needed to think before he spoke. Maybe having Peter around wasn’t feeling so good right now, and maybe the superhero needed to go get some superhero-ing out of his system. Maybe she didn’t know how to make the moment feel better, so maybe she would let him get away from her like he needed to this morning anyway. 

“I think you should leave. I’ll see you Monday, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a little angst. 
> 
> And as you soak it up, answer me this: is this plot line (racism related to MJ's mom's campaign) problematic? I didn't want the evil in this story to be a radioactive villain or whatever, because there are plenty of baddies in real life and I find real issues more compelling. But I also realize it's problematic to exploit something like violence against a specific community just for ~flavor~ in a story (helloooo three billboards). I hope I'm not doing that, but if I am I will 100% rewrite the necessary storylines to fix it. If you thought this was handled poorly please let me know! I know it's just fanfic, but like, I don't want to get away with something that makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> Thanks so much for your kudos and comments guys!


	8. Chapter 8

I should have stayed yesterday. I left because you told me to, but we should have kept talking.

That’s what Peter wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if he should start with apologies:

I’m sorry I freaked you out and I’m sorry I made it sound like I think you don’t care about your mom. It just came out wrong and I didn’t mean it like that. I understand what you were talking about yesterday. I get it now I think

Or more bluntly:

I do feel guilty about slacking on Spider-Man but that isn’t what this is about. I’m sorry I said that. I saw stuff that made it seem like your mom’s in danger and I wanted to help because that’s something I can help with and that’s all. Please don’t be mad at me for that. I know you know more about this kind of thing than me, so I’ll do whatever you think is the right thing. I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking about things from your mom’s perspective

Each text he drafted got longer, and the more he thought about it, the more Peter knew he needed to say this in person, to see Michelle’s body language and just how angry she might still be with him.

So he went with that.

peter: I want to see you. Can I see you? I can be there in 10

And she didn’t respond.

He waited for about an hour, puttering about in his room, until he decided to put on his suit regardless of her answer and get out his nerves with a fight. If only he could find Flash and “accidentally” web him to a wall. A quick web-up of a purse-snatcher or corner store thief would be perfect. Or maybe he could try to break his record for quickest swing to Midtown High. Literally anything to distract him and channel his adrenaline away from How badly did I fuck up yesterday.

So he crawled out of his window and charged into the air.

He forced himself to go a half hour without checking his texts, but he couldn’t hold off any longer than that. “Hey Karen, any new messages from MJ?”

“You have no unread messages.”

“Okay. Thanks Karen. Could you text Ned and ask him what to—wait a minute.”

Peter was up by the bay trying to figure out where to go next, when he spotted a slumped figure a ways out, next to the water.

“Sure thing, Peter. I told Ned to wait a minute.” 

“No, no, tell him nevermind. That wasn’t—just nevermind.” 

He couldn’t swing all that close to it, so he lowered himself to the ground and started walking, checking over his shoulder for active suspects.

When he got close, he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and it had nothing to do with his heightened senses.

In a heap, clearly dead, was the man he’d stopped from stealing a shipment of hard drives out of the back of a truck a few weeks before. 

“Peter, you have one new message from MJ. She says—”

“Um, thanks Karen, just hold on a second.”

Approaching the body, Peter stared at the back of the man’s head, desperate for some indication that he’d died by anything other than poorly healing brain trauma.

The man was on his side with his face up to the sky. His lips were blue, his skin unnaturally pale. When Peter circled the corpse he saw the clear cause of death—unrelated to the man’s head—but it was disturbing enough that he felt no relief.

There were three gaping stab wounds in his abdomen and dried black blood down his front. Peter took a step back and looked away. 

This man had a son somewhere, and that’s all Peter knew about him. But knowing anything was disquieting. The body near the water had been a person, had been in pain, and had then bled out. In front of Peter wasn’t a victim in danger who needed Spider-Man—he was clearly headed for trouble weeks before, and he’d likely run up a debt he couldn’t repay and been dumped here—there was a reminder that Peter’s life involved this kind of thing now. Sometimes Peter’d be able to be a hero, but other times when he went looking for crime he’d find it already committed with no one left to save.

This was his life now. It was a sobering thought. 

As if he wasn’t already feeling shitty today.

And now even shittier, seeing as this man was violently killed and Peter’s first thought was my life is messy. On top of being an idiot to his girlfriend, he was a narcissistic asshole.

He remembered MJ’d sent him a text and pulled out his phone. 

MJ: hey parents got back early and I was talking to them

peter: Meaning you weren’t avoiding talking to me?

MJ: oh i was

MJ: i didn't feel like talking to you

MJ: because I really like you peter

MJ: i really like you

Her texts came in quick succession, and then they stopped. Peter watched the three dots appear and disappear. He watched them blink for a while and disappear again as he waited for the other shoe to drop. 

MJ: but things got really personal yesterday. it was weird for me to hear you bring up a thing I’ve been worried about my whole life and act like you can just swing in and web it up. it’s not simple like that and even if it were a good idea for you to do something for my mom you can’t try and manipulate me into letting you do what you want by talking about her being killed. that was too far.

MJ: and you need to know that

He read her texts over several times before replying.

peter: I hear you, and I get it, and I’m sorry MJ

And I don’t know why you like me, he added to himself. 

MJ: thank you

Peter still wanted to see her. He didn’t like the weird tension and formality of their texts, and he knew fixing things for real would only happen if they worked off each other’s energy. And also, now more than before he wanted to be physically near her just so he could calm down. Even if she was mad at him, MJ still made him feel seen and valuable, even when maybe he didn’t deserve it. 

Maybe he really didn’t deserve it though. He was supposed to be apologizing to her, not using her to feel better. Glancing around the vacant lot, Peter tugged off his mask and rubbed his face. He’d boxed himself in with his thoughts and wasn’t sure how to relieve the sinking feeling in his chest.

As if she could read his mind, though, MJ interrupted his brooding. 

MJ: maybe you should come over

His response was swift.

peter: Only if you want me to

MJ: yeah. come thru my window though

peter: Okay

He put his mask back on and made his way to the nearest building, climbing up the side. After he called 911 to leave an anonymous tip about the body, and as he prepared to swing off toward Michelle’s, Peter saw a notification pop up.

MJ: hey. I made ned tell me what poster and I went to see it but it had already been taken down. that was you?

After being kicked out of MJ’s, Peter had more or less taken out his emotions on the ruined board. A passerby even stopped and asked if he was okay, having watched Spider-Man slam the same piece of stiff board from one patch of earth to another at the end of a web. Peter’d tried to play it off with a quick, “hey, that’s my line,” but it came out so weak that the guy on the sidewalk just stared at him for a few seconds and walked off, quicker than he’d approached. 

peter: Depends

peter: How do you feel about vigilante justice, again?

MJ: there’s one guy I like

MJ: tight suit

MJ: mask

MJ: it’s black panther

peter: I know this is humor, but it pains me

MJ: is it humor? 

The little bit of lightness took some weight off of Peter’s chest. He was working himself up more than he needed to. These days that seemed like his special skill.

MJ: thanks for taking it down, spiderman

Cross-legged on her bed, wrapped in her comforter, MJ smiled. She’d wanted her space for most of the day, but she was regretting kicking him out. If he’d stayed they could have talked some more and figured things out without this awkwardness. His heart was in the right place, she knew, he was just a little clueless about this part of her life. 

When she badgered Ned, though, she forced the details of the graffiti out of him, and it was actually a notch more pointed and graphic than she expected. And when her parents got home, she’d asked about security, and her mom mentioned a recent and unexplained increase in the volume of hate mail. She was seemingly unconcerned, but Michelle figured that was for her benefit. Even if Peter’d gotten there ass backwards, it was possible he’d stumbled onto something. 

Wanting to do good didn’t mean much if you didn’t act on it, and Peter was at least trying to act. Sometimes Michelle looked at people like him and like her mom—visible, out there, doing so much more than everybody else for everybody else—and felt exhausted on their behalf. Somebody needs to sit and think things through, though, and with that she felt less guilty about kicking Peter out.

But she wanted to see him. They’d been practically joined at the hip since they started dating, and it was happening very fast but she was getting used to liking that more than being alone. 

 

\---------

 

It didn’t take long for Michelle to hear a hesitant tapping. 

She slid the window up and absentmindedly reached out her hand to pull up his mask, but faltered and pulled back. 

“What are you waiting for, come on in,” she said. 

Peter cleared his throat and followed her lead with a quiet “Yep.”

He took off the mask and held it, unsure what to do with himself. She went back to her bed. He sat at her desk. 

“We have to be quiet.” MJ quirked her head at the door. “Parents wouldn’t love knowing how easy it is for my boyfriend to sneak into my bedroom.”

Peter felt the familiar rush of warmth at the label and nodded. 

They sat in silence.

“Not this quiet. I—”

“I did some work for History this morning,” Peter interjected. “I got a good..two..slides done. They’re on the google doc. Solid chance we’ll have a cool quarter of a presentation for the quarter project when it’s due next week.” He was looking at her as his voice trailed off. “Maybe Mr. Sanders’ll think that’s funny.” 

“It’s due this week.” Cautious as their speech was, they couldn’t look away from each other. Peter was wringing his hands, and Michelle wasn’t moving at all.

“What?” 

“Friday.” Of course. For whatever reason, this stress cherry on the top of a stressful day struck Peter as funny.

“Well,” he said, “Shit.” 

Michelle grinned. Peter mirrored her expression unconsciously and, because being around her almost made him forget about his anxiety, he added, “We would have been so productive if you could’ve just stopped flirting with me for one minute.” 

Michelle pointed to herself and raised her eyebrows, cocking her head. Peter continued, “I get that I’m irresistible, but it’s honestly embarrassing.” 

“This is definitely the worst apology anyone’s ever made to me.” 

Peter snorted at that but bowed his head, subdued at her reminder of why things were tense to begin with. 

“MJ, I’m—”

“I know you’re sorry. I know you were you trying to help. And we’re fine, you and me, I think. I just. You get why I was mad, though, right? Like. You know why I got so frustrated? You know it’s not me being emotional, it’s like a real thing to be upset about?” MJ straightened her back and drew her comforter in closer around her. It was weird for her to be in an argument, a conversation, a whatever this was, and to be nervous about the other person’s response. MJ was usually so ready to call out whoever needed it, because the truth had always been more important than the person. 

It wouldn’t have occurred to him to think she would get upset for no reason, and he told her so, adding, “You make sense when you talk, you know. So I think I do get it.”

“Good. Can you not sit over there then?” 

Peter got up and glanced at the door then back to MJ. He smiled. 

“This is what I’m talking about. I’m more than just a body, MJ.”

“Shut up, you giant dork.”

When he sat he put a hand on her knee. She smoothed out his hair. 

“How much sound does that door block?”

“I’m not sure, and I’m not going to find out the weird way, Peter, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Michelle traced a line at the back of his neck—from his hairline to his suit—with her index finger. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“Peter?”

“Hm?”

“There’s a rally tomorrow night where my mom’s gonna speak, and it’d be good if Spider-Man were there. In the background. Laying low. But watching the crowd, just in case.”

He pulled back, a little confused. “I mean, okay. Of course. And if anything happens I can go to a reporter and talk up your mom after? Or I can completely stay away from reporters, if that, you know, is better, attention-wise. Whatever you think is best. But, I mean, you’re okay with that?” He squinted. “Is this a test?”

“My dad should be at work til late, and after the rally my mom’s gonna schmooze at some donor’s house for at least an hour. I’m not going to the thing because I’ve heard her talking points a million times, but if you come by here when the big crowd part is done I can show you how ‘okay with that’ I am.” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.”

MJ explained her reasoning, what she thought of the billboard, what she’d heard from her mom. 

When things were settled, Michelle wrapped her arms around Peter’s neck and whispered, “Thanks for wanting to protect my family. Also, I’m kicking you out now.”

“You did that yesterday and it was no fun, so I vote no.”

“You can’t vote no,” she said, moving to sit in his lap.

“It doesn’t feel like you’re kicking me out.” Peter kissed her, and she pressed herself closer into him.

“My bad.” 

Things would be too strange and mortifying to explain if her parents came in—I snuck my boyfriend into my bed, also Spider-Man’s in our house, also Spider-Man is my boyfriend, also Peter, ya busted—so after indulging in a stolen two minutes of kissing him, she shifted off and stood up, adjusting her shirt. 

She meant to say Okay time to leave now, but got caught up just looking at him. He stared right back. Something about it was more intimate than what they’d been doing moments before. It felt like things were changing.

“I—” he didn’t have the right word, so he left out a verb. “You know?”

“Yeah. Me too.”

A few beats later, Peter found his mask and climbed out the window onto the brick. Gripping the building’s exterior, he stuck his head back in. “Um. We really do actually have to do History, like, very soon.”

“After the thing. After—afterwards. Tomorrow. Now go away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for continuing to read this story! and to everybody who commented on the last chapter—thank you thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh me oh my, go call your momma, boy oh boy, it's time for ~draaamaaaaa~

Peter woke up Monday from another nightmare. He’d kicked off his sheets and curled up in the corner of the bed trying to get away from Aunt May’s corpse, which was now just his pillow. Still shaking, he texted MJ. 

peter: Hey good morning please distract me with something

MJ: you okay?

peter: Nightmare

MJ: i’m not wearing any pants rn

peter: That’s a really good distraction

MJ: no shirt either

MJ: completely naked 

peter: Really?

MJ: no I’m standing in the kitchen with my mom, it’d be kinda odd to drop trow. but if you need more distracting i can do it and report on the experience

peter: Hahaha I’m good. Thanks though, feeling better already

And he was. The simple minute of texting snapped him fully back into reality. Picturing MJ naked wasn’t a bad way to start the day, so he was going to try and pretend that was the first thing that had happened this morning. 

Peter rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and rolled out of bed, thinking all kinds of dirty thoughts about his girlfriend, looking forward to seeing her in about an hour.

But MJ didn’t show up for school. 

When Peter couldn’t find her at her locker before lunch, he sent her a text. She told him she was feeling sick and wanted to stay home and rest for the day. When she didn’t respond to his offer to bring soup, Peter joined Ned in the cafeteria to talk about the upcoming rally.

“You take out actual supervillains. This isn’t gonna be anywhere near as dangerous as that. Plus, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance you just listen to the speeches and chill on a rooftop. You’re there just in case.”

“Yeah. I think so, right? And it’s not like we’re talking about anybody highly trained. If an angry nazi guy shows up, he’d probably get punched out by the crowd before he can do anything.”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah. Anyway. This is gonna sound whatever, but I really wish MJ wasn’t sick today.”

“What, like, that’s gonna sound lame like you’re obsessed with her? I know that already.”

“No, like it’s—hold on, I’m not ‘obsessed’ with her, that sounds like I hide under her bed and collect her hair or something—it’s just gonna sound selfish. I’m pretty sure she wanted to have sex tonight, but if she’s sick then obviously, you know, we won’t.”

“Like a thanks bang for looking out for her mom?”

“No, dude, that’s, what? No, like just—sex. We haven’t actually slept together yet. So.”

“Aaaaahh I see. You know, you’re definitely not scared of her like you used to be. She’s gonna kill you for telling me all this.”

“MJ’s aware of my shortcomings. I mean, I told you about this weekend.” 

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“No I know. Anyway.” 

They talked for another twenty minutes before the bell rang. Peter was talking like he had all the confidence in the world in anything he was saying. It felt good to talk to Ned like he wasn’t a little weirded out that MJ didn’t show up and didn’t say anything about it until he asked. Like he wasn’t nervous about the idea of sleeping with her, if that’s what she had even been implying the day before. Like he wasn’t half(ish) human, half patchwork of anxieties about every little thing. 

It felt good to talk exactly like they did when nothing huge was happening. When Peter lost Ben, Ned instinctively knew that joking around and gliding over the serious stuff was the only way Peter could function. And that hadn’t really changed.

Getting up from the table, Peter texted Michelle.

peter: Hey you, feeling any better?

peter: Tell Sanders it’s ebola and maybe we can get an extension on history. There’s a chance you get snatched by the cdc, but I suggest you take one for the team

No response. Probably napping. 

 

\-------------

 

Hours passed and it was time for the rally. Spider-Man had a hoodie on and sat at the edge of a rooftop overlooking the small crowd, trying his best not to be seen. Popping skittles into his mouth, he casually listened to the first two speeches but mainly scoped out movement in the park, on the streets, in the windows. Michelle’s mom was the third and final speaker. The event had been going for about half an hour when she got up to the podium, and no one had rushed the stage, no explosions had been set off—no one had so much as heckled the speakers. 

As far as Peter could tell, absolutely nothing was off. He tried focusing on the words, thinking it’d be good to actually know a little about his girlfriend’s mom’s core beliefs, but when he looked at her he saw familiar MJ mannerisms and let his mind wander. He imagined Michelle on a stage like this some day, glaring at an opponent in a debate or being presented with an award. He thought about her catching his eye in her moment of triumph, and he found himself smiling at the idea of the long term with this girl. He snapped out of his reverie midway through Sandra Jones’ speech, though, when her assistant exited the stage and reappeared a minute later with a stricken look. 

The assistant walked up to Mrs. Jones from behind and whispered something in her ear. When the congresswoman tried to subtly wave him off, without losing a beat in her speech, he said something else that was enough to cause her words to falter. 

Mrs. Jones paused, stared at her podium for second, and announced she had a family emergency and though she regretted it would have to cut the speech short and leave immediately. Thanks for coming out today, I hope you were inspired by the event and our great community, and I hope to see you again soon. 

Peter didn’t like this at all. Had the assistant heard about an imminent threat? Surely if that were the case, everyone would’ve been instructed to evacuate, right? Or maybe that would create more chaos than necessary. He scanned the crowd and heard a lot of curious murmuring but nothing triggered his senses. 

He jumped down into an alley and cut off Mrs. Jones as she was shepherded to her car off to the side.

“Hi Ma’am, Spider-Man, nice to meet you. I was watching the speech—great event—and you mentioned an emergency. Is something wrong?”

Mrs. Jones barely looked at him. “I have to leave right away, excuse me.” 

“Right, well, I might be able to help, if you tell me what’s wrong?” Peter tried to not sound desperate, but he was getting nervous. He had one job, and it felt like he was failing.

The assistant held a hand to Mrs. Jones’ back, directing her into the car. But Mrs. Jones turned, pushing his arm away. She gave Spider-Man a once over, and something in her eyes shifted. “Wait, wait, wait. I’ve seen you on the news.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you do private work?”

“Definitely. I mean I definitely can.”

“And I’m assuming since no one knows who you are, you can be discrete.” 

“Yeah, of course.”

She looked hesitant for a minute, glancing between her car and Peter. “Okay. I’m going home, and I need you to follow me.”

“Ma’am, what’s the emergency?”

“I have to get home. We will figure out payment later, after I have a talk with my husband.”

“No, no, I’ll do it for free. But is there something I can do now? If you tell me what’s going on…”

“It’s my daughter.” 

Peter heard himself respond, but his brain was stuck for a moment on what she’d just said. 

“What happened to your daughter?” He almost didn’t want to hear the answer. If something had happened to her he needed to know, but he wanted to live in this before moment where MJ was fine. She’d been sick—was she drugged? Poisoned?

“I don’t have all the details. My husband is at our apartment. I have to get home.”

“Mrs. Jones, what happened to your daughter?”

“She’s been taken.”

 

\--------

 

The story went like this. MJ’s dad got off work early and went home. Michelle wasn’t around, but he figured she was either at school studying late or with a friend. As the afternoon wore on, he went to collect the mail and found, sitting on top of the day’s letters, bent from being shoved into the mailbox, a sheet of paper with a polaroid stapled to it. No stamp, no address, but painfully clear with its intention. 

It was a poorly lit shot of Michelle, blindfolded, seemingly unconscious, lying on her side in the trunk of an SUV, hands behind her back, out of view but most likely tied. The paper had a short typed message: Drop out of the race. Make up a reason. She’s yours when Dossick wins. We won’t touch her unless you come looking. She’ll die before you catch us. We won’t negotiate. If you ever go to police we got her once we can get her again. 

At least, that was the message with a few choice words removed. It was signed with large block letters: White Power. 

It took Mr. Jones a minute to see straight, but he immediately dialed his wife. Her phone was off so he called her assistant relentlessly until he picked up. 

When Peter saw the polaroid he couldn’t speak. It was handed to him and he dropped it on the table like he’d been burned. It felt disrespectful to look at her like that, so vulnerable and too out of it to turn away from the camera let alone struggle. What if they’ve already killed her? What if she’s dead in this photo? Peter wanted to pass out. He couldn’t handle this.

It took a second to realize MJ’s parents were talking to him. 

“Sorry, I was— Sorry. Could you repeat that?”

“We need to know if you can help. Can you help find her? Without the police? They could have people in the police.” If Peter weren’t already tied to Michelle he’d want to find her to take the desperation out of her mother’s voice.

“Yes. Yes I can help. I’ll find her, I swear to you. And if I can’t do it alone I’ll make Tony Stark help me. She’s coming home, I promise.”

Again he found himself speaking with more confidence than he felt, but this time he knew he had to act by his words. They had to be true. He didn’t want to imagine them not being true.

Peter crawled to the top of MJ’s building, hands shaking all the way up. He looked around, trying to mentally go through the steps it would take to abduct someone, the places it would most likely happen, the cameras or people that might have been witnesses. As he strategized he couldn’t keep flashes of a terrified MJ out of his mind. 

He came to the icy realization that it probably wasn’t her who’d texted him to say she was sick, that she’d already been grabbed, and that several long hours had passed before anyone was even aware something had happened to her. 

The election was still a month and a half away, so this wasn't an impromptu, seize-the-moment kind of ultimatum. This was a long-term hostage plan. Somebody, or a group of somebodies, had thought through a month and a half of keeping MJ hidden, silent, scared, and alone. But if the goal was to ruin Mrs. Jones’ political career, thought Peter, the brutal murder of her daughter could be a devastating blow that did that anyway. That didn't leave a huge incentive for the kidnappers to keep Michelle alive if it got tough to hold her, and there was no incentive to keep her unscathed before that point. 

And they had a significant head start. 

MJ was missing, and she could be anywhere.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ruh roh

Michelle imagined Peter’s eyes going wide as she texted him saying she had no pants on. She felt bad he’d had another nightmare, but being his go-to made her feel kind of like glowing. And knowing how much he liked her body was a kind of ego trip she hadn’t experienced before.

Before they started dating, she wanted him. She thought about him and she thought about being with him, but she hadn’t thought about how good it would feel for him to want her back, like, physically. She saw those arms in gym, she saw firsthand how strong Spider-Man was, she knew about the muscles. She also saw Peter as Peter, with his soft hair and his sweet eyes, and as much as she could rib him for being awkward or whatever, he was a catch even without the superpowers. 

For him to like her back personality-wise was one thing. But to look at her and Want her made Michelle feel like she had her own superpower. Seeing his eyes go dark was a kind of thrill she didn’t think would ever get old. 

So, nightmare to “feeling better already” in sixty seconds had her smiling. She’d see him in about an hour, and as she got ready for school she thought about pulling him into a dark room for however many minutes they’d have before the first period bell rang. 

MJ said bye to her mom and walked out the front door. About halfway to the train she got an uncomfortable feeling. Looking around she didn’t see anyone, but there was a sound? a shadow? something she couldn’t put a finger on that had her on edge. She kept walking.

Not two minutes later, Michelle felt heat run up her spine, and she realized she couldn’t move. At least, not the way she wanted to—it felt like every inch of her was shaking, her back had arched involuntarily, and her hands were locked like claws, wrists bent and fingers incapable of straightening. Her legs had given out, but she wasn’t on the pavement, she was in some man’s arms. It happened so fast she barely processed him? them? walking her through an alley and into a car at the other end. And then she was out. 

When MJ came to, her body ached and her mouth was dry. She couldn’t tell what it was that restrained her, but she was being held firmly against the wall of a dark room, and the more she struggled, the tighter it got. 

“Hey fuckers!” she yelled as aggressively as she could. 

She heard her voice echo into a larger room beyond hers, but no one responded. No one approached. Nothing moved. 

She felt a cold dread settle over her like frost.

 

\-----------

 

As Spider-Man, Peter confirmed with Mrs. Jones that she’d seen MJ before she set off for school. He confirmed that she’d been perfectly healthy when she left, and as Peter he confirmed with the school that she never showed up for her first class. 

MJ must have been grabbed on her way to school, and he knew her route. 

Peter was trying to stay focused on the fact that he had leads to pursue without being overwhelmed with a mix of rage and alarm. 

He called Ned, who, once getting past the initial shock of it, agreed with Peter that hacking corner store and retail security cameras was the best way to start. There were only so many blocks she had to walk on either end of the subway ride, so it didn’t take too long to find grainy black and white footage of a girl at the edge of the frame being what looked like tasered and lifted out of visible range, presumably into the alley. 

“And you’re sure that’s her?”

“Come on, Ned, those are definitely her shoes, and I know that’s her sweater.”

“There’s barely any sweater in the footage. We have to be sure, man. I mean, whoever that is deserves help, but like, MJ first.”

“I’m sure. And what’s the likelihood that someone else with MJ’s shoes gets abducted on the same route at the same approximate time? I know that’s her. I know it. We gotta find a witness.” 

Ned nodded, sending Peter off to the store while he studied the polaroid of Michelle in the car, trying not to think too much about the fact that the girl in the picture was his friend.

It was clearly a black SUV, but there was no visible license plate, and Ned quickly determined that the make and model was too common to narrow down a suspect pool, even if he could hack the DMV. 

When the storeowner didn’t have any memory of seeing a girl grabbed on the street, Peter swung back to his room where Ned was re-watching the kidnapping clip on repeat for clues. 

“We just can’t see anything. They’re covered, and there isn’t even a partial face in the shot. I mean we know they’re white, but like, “angry white guys” don’t narrow anything down in New York.”

So Peter called Tony. In the next hour Tony was able to scan the letter and picture for prints or any other unique, identifying traces, and he found nothing. He told Peter he’d be happy to run more evidence through his lab if he could, but he was needed out of the country in a hot minute and there wasn’t a lot he could do as far as boots-on-the-ground investigating.

“I’ll be back in two days, kid. If they’ve planned something long-term, nothing’s gonna happen in two days. I know it looks bad, but speaking as a former hostage, it’s not the end of the world. Plus, given the rational behind this thing—seriously, there are so many easier ways to fuck with politics—I’m guessing these guys are a couple screws short of a hardware store and your girl will have herself out by morning. They’re begging you not to go to the police, and that means they’re scared of basic law enforcement. You’ve done harder things than track down people like this, Spider-Man.”

Peter could’ve taken a swing at Tony for his “not the end of the world” comment, but the guy did have a point about the police. Chances are these guys had no idea they’d be messing with a superhero. 

Still. With Toomes’ weapons still out there in random hands, a lot of criminals were a lot scarier than they had any right to be. And something gave these guys the confidence it took to grab a politician’s daughter.

Then it hit Peter. “Ned. Her phone. We have to track her phone.”

“Her phone is off, Peter. We tried that.”

“No, like the cell towers it pinged before it went off.”

The captors had texted him. They texted him from her phone saying she was sick, trying to delay suspicion as long as possible. Cell tower records would show where she’d been hours after she was grabbed, and if she weren’t still there, at least they’d have the beginnings of a trail. 

Peter and Ned got to work. 

 

\----------

 

“Oh my god.”

“Holy shit. It worked.”

“She’s not that far away!”

“They only took her to Jersey?”

“Her phone stayed there for over an hour before they shut it off or it died or whatever, so that’s gotta be where they’re holding her.”

“Okay, how do we narrow down the location?”

Ned hacked the traffic cameras, and after some exhaustive scanning, they tracked a black SUV to a shipping yard. 

It was nearing 4am, they’d been at it for about 10 hours, and both boys were running on fumes, practically blind from staring at traffic feeds. Peter was wired with adrenaline, but it wasn’t an entirely stable kind of consciousness, and Ned had more than once nodded off, nearly tipping out of his chair.

“So she’s in one of those warehouses.”

“Or they held her there before moving again.”

“But like, she’s probably there.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go.”

“Peter, you have to rest. Like, 20 minute nap. I’ll set an alarm—I’ll wake you up!”

“You’ll fall asleep before I do, Ned, come on. I can’t—MJ is literally being held hostage right now. What if I get there 20 minutes after they decided she was too much to handle? I can’t—”

“What if you get there and you’re too delirious from not sleeping that they kill you?”

“I’m fine. I’m awake, and I can do this. I have to do this.”

“Peter, how much did you sleep last night?”

“Enough, Ned. I’m going.”

 

\--------

 

These guys are amateurs, Peter repeated in his head as he flung himself as fast as possible towards the shipping yard. But that doesn’t mean they can’t hurt her. What do I do if they’ve hurt her? Can’t think about that. She’s fine. She’s gotta be fine.

 

\--------

 

MJ realized that standing perfectly still caused her bonds to loosen. Not enough to escape, but enough to not feel claustrophobic. For a while that’s all she did—stand as still as possible, telling herself it wasn’t so bad, no one was hurting her, she wasn’t really in pain, just achy from the abduction, and that this wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t. Of all the people to date she’d somehow chosen the local superhero, and he’d come find her if she couldn’t get out of this herself. She had to have faith in her own ingenuity and in that or she might cry, and Michelle Jones did not cry in self-pity. 

The longer she stood there, silent, unmoving, the angrier she got. Clearly she was a pawn in something. It’s not like these guys had grabbed her for her—hell, they’d abandoned her as soon as they could. 

That’s when Michelle heard the metal snap of a heavy door closing. She waited to hear footsteps approach, unsure if that was a good or terrifying thing. A man appeared in the doorway. He looked her up and down once and turned to leave.

“What do you want out of this? Because you’re not gonna get it,” she yelled at his back.

She didn’t want to mention Spider-Man if this wasn’t about Peter, but she wanted them to know she wasn’t scared. Maybe that was stupid. But she couldn’t give these assholes the gratification.

The man looked at her, bored. He barely caught her eyes, and she knew he was dismissing her without a second thought.

Michelle spat at him. “Hey, I’m talking to you, fuckface!”

He pivoted and was suddenly within a foot of her. He smacked Michelle so hard across the face her temple hit the wall. 

“I have to keep you alive, but there’s so much I can do that won’t kill you.” He didn’t elaborate, but he stared at Michelle, unfeeling, almost like he was looking through her. She felt a small bead of blood drip from her brow, but she couldn’t lift her arms to wipe it. The man watched it fall onto the front of her shirt. He stared at her breasts.

“So what’s the ransom?” She was scared to speak but needed to do something—anything—to get him to stop staring at her body like that. 

He didn’t reply, didn’t move. A second man walked in. This one wore a bandana over his face, and all Michelle could see in the dim light were the glassy blue of his eyes. 

“The fuck are you doing—You can’t let her see your face.” The second man shone a flashlight at Michelle, effectively blinding her.

Michelle could hear the first man turn, his voice aimed at the partner. “It’s day one. She won’t remember.” 

Michelle didn’t like the sound of that. How many days were they planning to keep her?

“Put on your fucking mask.” She looked down and in the illumination could see her restraints clearly. Rather than the bundle of smooth ropes it’d felt like, it was a large convoluted mass of goo, like a gelatin octopus securing her to the wall, stretching as she moved—like an alive thing ready to swallow her.

The first man pulled a bandana out of his pocket and tied it around his face. “She won’t say anything.” The fuck I won’t, thought Michelle. “She knows we got her, and when this is over she’ll remember we could have done a lot more. And that if she says anything maybe we come into her bed one night and remind her.” 

Michelle was feeling something past fear. It was a kind of anger that, paired with her current physical vulnerability, felt like it would never stop burning. If she didn’t have the muscle to get herself out of this place, she knew she’d have the lungs to go down screaming.

“It’s a good thing to start telling yourself now: When you’re out of here in six weeks, you don’t remember a thing.” 

Six weeks? What is going on? The election’s in six weeks. This was about her mom? This was about fucking politics? She thought back to her talk with Peter, wishing now they’d realized the threat didn’t stop at the candidate. 

“Fuck you, you stupid fucks.” 

The first man raised his hand to smack her again and smiled when she flinched. That was apparently all he wanted to see, because he turned and left the room. The second man, still aiming his light at her face, got closer, until he was standing almost nose to nose. Without saying a word, he clicked off the flashlight, pulled his arm back, and swung the heavy object down like a police baton with a sickening crack against her exposed forearm.

She’d never broken a bone before, but she imagined this was probably what it felt like. Silent still, the man walked away, leaving Michelle gasping—refusing to cry out—eyes watering, pain radiating out to her fingers and up her arm, standing alone in the dark. 

 

\----------

 

After about half an hour, Peter arrived at the shipping yard, adrenaline coursing through him. 

Walking along a wide path, empty under the weak light of a thin moon, he scanned each building and shipping container for thermal signatures. 

“Alright Karen,” he said, praying Michelle was close, “show me where she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who's left a comment or kudos!!! you make me real happy


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo took me a while to update, but to make up for it, here's the longest chapter yet! I hope you enjoy! Although "enjoy" might not be the right word for this one...

Peter began covering the yard, meticulous in his probe from one end to the other. The warehouses and containers he passed were empty, but he was sure MJ was close. This was where she had to be. If she wasn’t here, they had no solid leads in any direction. 

He tried to focus on the search instead of listening to the uptick in his pulse. He was nearly done checking the yard itself, but he hadn’t branched off to the docked ships yet, so there was hope.

He sent droney out to canvas for human activity or the SUV. Traffic footage hadn’t caught the car leaving the area, so it should still be around. Unless they’d taken some back road out, which was, frustratingly, entirely possible. 

Squatting on top of one of the containers, Peter considered the water and the ships floating there. Many were bare-bones structures, scarcely begun in their construction. Two more showed signs of ongoing work, and he doubted either was an ideal place to hold someone undetected. At the far end of the yard, though, sat a mid-size cargo ship in need of some repair and seemingly abandoned. There were no work stations set up around it, and it was far enough to the side that Peter imagined it might be docked there indefinitely, waiting for the right time to be broken down for parts. 

As he eyed the ship—too far away for the mask to accurately estimate what was inside—droney began transmitting images. 

It took about thirty seconds for Peter to realize it: MJ wasn’t here. All he got was picture after picture of empty spaces. 

No captors. 

No clues. 

Peter swung and then ran to the ship he’d been eyeing. Maybe droney had missed something. Maybe she was so deep inside the ship the little drone couldn’t spot signs of life. Maybe the complete lack of spidey sense was a fluke and she would appear because he needed her to.

When he got close enough, Peter looked for a heat signature. He scanned slowly from one end to the other. 

No way was he going to get this close and miss something. 

Then he saw it. 

A lone figure at the far end of the ship, below decks. The signs were faint because of the density of structures between sensor and signal, but it couldn’t be anything but a person. 

Warmth flared for a moment in Peter’s chest. 

He got closer and closer until he was at the edge of the dock, from which point he swung himself up onto the ship’s deck. At the heavy clang of his landing he saw the shape at the far end begin to move. 

She wasn’t tied up? 

Peter ran toward the shape and spotted a narrow open hatch in the deck. Without a second thought he drew his arms to his chest and dropped down. 

And, as he opened his mouth to yell for MJ, came face to face with a tall bearded white man emerging from a darkened hallway. 

“What the—Where is she?” Peter said in his huskiest imitation of a deep voice, realizing with a sharp pang he had to quickly shift gears and fully accept that Michelle was most likely nowhere close.

“Who?” Who. This asshole. He was probably here cleaning up, making sure the kidnappers left no evidence in the shipyard. Because they definitely stopped here at one point, at least for a little while. Right? This place was out of the way enough that Peter figured they were here at the very least to regroup before settling in whatever other venue would hold MJ for the foreseeable future. 

“Sandra Jones’ daughter,” said Peter, trying to present a calm, confident front. In his head he screamed MJ! Michelle! My girlfriend, you fucking asshole!

“I don’t know who that is.” Right.

“Then what are you doing here at five in the morning?” 

“Starting my shift early. At my job. Where I am every day. What the fuck are you doing here at five in the morning, you masked fucking freak?” She had to have been here, right? This guy had to be involved, right? 

He was the only link Peter currently had to her whereabouts, so he had to keep pressing. “You’re here because you kidnapped Sandra Jones’ daughter. I’m here because I’m gonna bring her home. And if you start talking, maybe I won’t have to kill you.” Peter was surprised at how tempting the faux threat felt coming out of his mouth. 

“Dude, I don’t know what drugs you’re on, but I didn’t do anything. If I kidnapped somebody, where is she?” 

It wasn’t that outlandish that this guy actually be here for work, was it? Maybe he completely missed MJ and her captors as they detoured to wherever. Maybe they even saw this guy arrive and that was why they’d left the shipyard.

Peter felt the combination of intense, prolonged anxiety and a compounded sleep debt beginning to run him over. As long as there was some action to take, he could push through. But stopping to take stock, review more security footage, brainstorm new angles? He had to get something out of this guy. 

“I know you guys took her here, and even if the others took her somewhere else, she was here and you’re not being real smart lying to me.” 

“You’re cracked. If there’s some girl missing, you should go find the people who actually know something.” Peter had to believe the guy was lying. “Hey, back the fuck away from me!” 

Peter lunged at him faster than it took for panic to spread across the bearded face. With a quick web to the top of the stairs he launched himself and the man up onto the deck. In an instant, Spider-Man had him dangling face-first over the icy waters. 

“Talk. NOW.”

“I don’t know anything, man! I swear to god!” He protested for another few minutes before Peter got too disheartened to continue. The possibility that this man be innocent was too heavy on his shoulders. Peter brought him up to the deck and swung away without a word. 

“Droney, you gotta stay on him. Record it if he talks to anyone or makes any calls. Hang back though, and make sure he doesn’t see you.” He watched the small drone cut through the night air.

 

\---------

 

Peter lay on his back on top of a shipping container, trembling with the last of his adrenaline. The sky was beginning to pinken, and he wanted so badly to punch his way through something to find MJ. He couldn’t accept he’d hit a wall with the search, or that there was no way around it with brute force.

He couldn’t sleep til they found her, couldn’t sleep with her still in trouble, but he wasn’t sure he could stay awake. 

He called Ned and had Karen forward the last twenty minutes of mask footage to his guy in the chair’s computer. 

They decided to alternate hours searching and hours asleep. Ned had snoozed a bit already, so Peter closed his eyes. Just enough to then get home and continue with a clear head.

When he woke up, the sun was almost fully visible, and other workers were arriving at the shipyard. Definitely time to leave. 

Back in Queens in half an hour, Peter slid open his window and crawled inside to see Ned wide-eyed at the computer.

“Dude.”

“What’d you find?”

“The guy last night, er, this morning? He doesn’t work at the shipyard. Not anymore.” Ned’s smile was a much-needed spark of hope. 

“What?”

“I mean, I guess he could technically still have a legit reason for being there, but he was fired by the actual maintenance team there two months ago.”

“Are you kidding me?” So the guy was definitely lying about work. Then he was almost certainly lying about Michelle too. Peter groaned and sank onto his bed. If this was a lead that’s all that mattered, but it felt acutely shitty that he’d been so close and dropped the ball. “I have crazy powers and I can’t even help MJ the one time she needs me. Why am I such a crap superhero?”

“Peter, this just started. We’re gonna find her. It hasn’t even been a full day yet, and nobody else our age could be doing what you’re doing.” God bless Ned. Peter could accept maybe twenty percent of the intended comfort, but that was enough to keep him functioning.

“But what if she’s stuck wherever and thinking we don’t care?”

“Give yourself the tiniest benefit of the doubt, man. She’ll know we’re doing everything we can. And do you want to focus on what could be happening or on finding her?”

Peter rolled off the bed and walked to the desk, nodding and looking at the screen over Ned’s shoulder. 

As Ned pulled up another shipyard record he said, “I just want to take a minute to say that I am a wildly valuable asset to the Spider-Man team, and you’re lucky to have me.”

It felt like a weird time to smile, and he wasn’t sure his mouth actually moved at all, but Peter bumped Ned with his shoulder and soaked in the brief moment of lightness before focusing again on the screen.

 

\--------

 

After hours of brainstorming, fitful on-and-off napping, and boring holes in their laptop screens with focused staring, the boys were nowhere. 

When Peter closed his eyes, he had his familiar nightmares, but the pain hit when he woke up and reality wasn’t much better. She was missing, gone somewhere no one was protecting her.

Then a transmission came in from droney. A live recording.

_“The fuck took you guys so long. You should’ve been here by seven. Got nearly tossed in the fuckin bay this morning by the vigilante spider-fuck who’s looking for the girl, apparently.”_

_“Cry about it ya big pussy. I’d rather be here sitting on my ass than in that room with the little cunt anyway.”_

_“Did you not hear me, you dumb shit, there’s somebody following us, and he’s got fucking superpowers.”_

_“And did you tell him anything?”_

_“Yeah I gave him your mom’s address and told him to pay a visit for a half-priced fucking whore.”_

“Ned, the guy’s talking.” He smacked Ned, who hit the desk with his forehead before popping up with half-open eyes, nodding vigorously. “They definitely have MJ.” Peter put the transmission on speaker.

_“—ugly piece of shit.”_

_“You sound like the bitch talking to McGregor this morning.”_

_“We’ve gotta give her something to keep her quiet. Sam said he had stuff, but where the fuck was he yesterday?”_

_“Yeah, yeah, he told me that too. I don’t know, man.”_

_“I mean I can’t look at you ugly shits too long either, bitch has a point. And a tight little body if you actually look at her.”_

_“There’s something to work with, yeah, if she takes it easy. Get the shit off Sam and I think she and I could have a good time.”_

_“Yeah but after you get a pill you’ll need to find a dick, too.”_

Ned watched Peter clenching his jaw, staring at the wall. 

“I’m gonna kill these guys, Ned.”

“You should stop listening. Turn it off, dude.”

“They’re giving us everything we need! It doesn't matter if we don’t like it, we have to hear it.”

“Droney’s recording it. We’ve got it, and I’ll listen to it. But Spider-Man doesn’t kill people. That’s what you decided, and it’s a good decision.”

“You think they don’t deserve it? Ned—” 

“This is it, Peter. We have the guys. It’s over for them, and we’ll have MJ so soon, dude! Don’t mess up your whole thing because somebody else sucks.” He paused, and the two boys shared an intense stare. “Sleep for a minute and I’ll ID these guys.”

“I can’t sleep now.”

“Okay. Then be useful and look through the shipyard’s employee registry with me.”

Peter grabbed his laptop, nodding, silent. At least they knew she was alive and okay enough to spit barbs at the kidnappers. He made a mental note to tell her how amazing he thought that was—she was—and how he had muscles and stuff but she was stronger than him. 

 

\--------

 

Michelle was slowly analyzing where she was. It was an older building, maybe an apartment complex or office space, but from the state of disrepair in the room and the general silence from the rest of the building, she figured it had to be a condemned site. She better not get asbestos-related diseases from this. 

Her arm was swollen and she had a piercing headache, but she tried to focus on everything else—how to fight this thing holding her to the wall without making it constrict, how to keep blood flowing through her legs so they didn’t cramp from standing for so long, if being glued to the wall even counted as standing. How to keep her stomach from growling, how to keep herself from pissing in her jeans. 

If they were gonna keep her here, she wasn’t going to show any vulnerability. They weren’t going to know a damn thing about her or what hurt or what she desperately wanted. 

She’d tried taunting them, hoping to get a rise out of one guard and maybe a slip of the tongue, an accidental reveal of something—anything—she could use to bring them down if she were able to escape and they tried to disappear. 

After that first guy they all wore bandanas to cover their faces, but one guy had a swastika tattoo on his shoulder. Real classy. Another had what appeared to be several cigarette burn scars along his forearm. 

Michelle refused to feel sorry for any of these assholes, but that didn’t have to stop her from filing observations in her mental catalogue of potential reasons people do awful things. 

If she could convince herself that this experience might somehow create something positive in her life, maybe she could survive it without the kind of hatred that inspired these people to kidnap her. She would never assault and kidnap anyone, but maybe that was a result of luck more than anything to be proud of. 

But also fuck this, fuck them, she needed to use the fucking toilet. 

The hours were passing, impossibly slow. Though technically her bonds would hold her up if she went limp—and maybe the weird, morphing organic material of the stuff would loosen enough to break out if she was totally still long enough—she couldn’t bear to risk passing out again with any of these people around. 

These fucks couldn’t be smart enough to effectively cover their trail, right? Peter or the police or her mom would come busting down the door any minute, right? Unless these guys were the police. You never know. 

Her mom better not be fucking caving to any of their demands.

A bald guy appeared in the doorway. He looked at her, not even into her eyes, just at her, and opened a door to the side. A room with a toilet. Then he pulled out a gun.

He approached her slowly. Something in his other hand tapped the gel body around her and it receded until it was barely a fist-sized blob on the wall. Suddenly freed from her bonds, Michelle nearly collapsed in a heap, weak from it all. 

The gun pressed into her forehead, and it was like her soul left her body she got so bone-deep scared. Without saying anything, he gave her a nudge and pointed to the bare bathroom. 

MJ had no doubt he’d shoot to kill. There was nothing in the bathroom she could use to hit him over the head, so she kept thinking as she moved to sit on the toilet. She was grateful he’d let her close the door, even if he stood right on the other side. 

Maybe she could stun him with the bathroom door somehow, or sprint out so fast he didn’t have time to react. They didn’t keep the entry to her small room closed, but she’d heard a heavy metal door or gate close enough times to know she probably couldn’t run out that way. Could she jump through the window? It was closed, but maybe full force she could break it with the strong heel of her boot? She was pretty sure they were on the second story, based on what was visible with some daylight now coming in. A two-story fall wouldn’t kill her, right? 

Be a little less ridiculous, Michelle. Superpowers exist, but you don’t have them.

What kind of psychological manipulation can you pull to get them to release you? That’s more your style. 

And then another thought, one that had been quietly running through her mind on repeat: I don’t really have to worry, because Peter’s coming. Right?

She pulled up and zipped her jeans with one hand, trying not to move her throbbing left arm. Mind racing, she held off on flushing the toilet, hoping the guard would allow another minute for her to brainstorm. 

The door flew open and immediately the gun was back at her temple. She was “taking too long.” The instinctual fear-freeze set it again, and she walked with him back to the wall. Tapping the goo or whatever it was again, the guard watched it expand across her. It felt like snakes wrapping themselves around her middle, like a blanket of gunk being laid across her body. It was tight. It was bizarre. She thought about Peter interacting with weird stuff all the time and told herself she could get through this. 

Just don’t fall asleep. Keep watching. Any information might be useful. Don’t let them touch you. 

 

\----------

 

Ned had continued listening to droney’s recording. From it he learned that the kidnappers had “done the hard part” but “need to set the longterm guard schedule, like set it in stone so we don’t have to keep talking about it at work. I don’t want to spend one more second than I have to incriminating myself in public. And no phones, remember. They can track that shit.” The men agreed to meet at “the location” at 7, the whole lot of them. 

Peter’d been able to ID the two new men, and he sat memorizing their faces.

“We can’t just sit around til 7. That’s still hours away. What if I got one of these guys and made him tell me where she is?”

“Like you did this morning?”

“Yeah but now I know for sure they’re involved. I won’t feel bad for him at all, so he won’t have anything to use against me.”

“But what if he gives bad information then tips off the others and we lose the trail?”

“What if I interrogate him and leave him hanging off the Brooklyn bridge in a cocoon, making it tough to tip anybody off?”

“Right, so the rest of them see news reports of their buddy dangling from a bridge and go yeah, that’s chill, commence evil meeting as planned?”

“Okay, so we don’t do it exactly like that. But I’m not just gonna sit here and wait.”

Ned hung his head and looked up at Peter. “Dude, I think it’s our best shot. Plus if they’re all together, we can get them all sent to jail. Otherwise you take down one guy and the rest are in the wind. We’ve got droney on them, so if we wait just a little, we follow droney and bring the whole group down.”

It made sense. Peter tried not to think of what could happen to MJ in the interim. 

Since the recording from earlier, droney hadn’t caught the guy having any more conversations. He left the shipyard but went to his own apartment and passed out. 

“I’ll tell the Jones’. They get to decide.”

 

\---------

 

“You have a recording of her?”

“Not of her—of them talking about her. She’s been…insulting them, basically. So she’s okay. She’s fighting.” He paused. “It sounds pretty badass. I mean, you know, strong. She sounds like a strong person.”

Mrs. Jones almost smiled at that. She’d lit up when Spider-Man appeared at the window with news, but upon hearing the news her face had settled back into stoic fortitude. 

Michelle’s father jumped in. “If you act now, we only get one or two of them, but we get Michelle back?”

“Well. I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know exactly where she is. We’re gonna keep looking, but I just, it’s possible we wouldn’t know anything about a location before 7 anyway.”

“Who’s we?”

“I meant me. I’ll keep looking. Me and my tech. I have a drone.. and stuff.” That could have been smoother.

It was better they didn’t have to worry about some associate going to the police or spilling the story to a journalist. It was also easier for Peter to not have to tap dance around who exactly this associate was if they badgered him about it.

The look the Jones’ shared read like shorthand for _are we really trusting this guy?_ but they didn’t say anything. Everyone in the room knew the situation was fucked, and though he felt their faith in him dwindling, Peter knew no one would look harder for MJ. Weirdly, feeling their palpable doubt gave him a second wind of confidence. 

Also, being in her home, seeing pictures of her everywhere made her feel very far away, and it sharpened the determined edge of his desperation.

The room was silent for a moment before Mrs. Jones, vaguely nodding her head, made the call. 

“Go at 7. Get them all. And bring her home.”

 

\---------

 

The men left Michelle alone as the day progressed. She wasn’t sure how the food and water thing was going to work, but she honestly wasn’t that keen to find out. 

There was nothing to observe and almost nothing to hear, so it was getting increasingly difficult to stay focused.

After another couple hours—she wasn’t sure exactly, as despite her best efforts she was lapsing in and out of consciousness—there was a new guy in the room. This one was smaller, probably shorter than her, and didn’t look all that threatening. But then again neither did Peter outside of his suit. Were any of these guys enhanced like him? Could they hurt him if he came busting through the window? How upset was he going to be when he saw her?

Was it strange—the fleeting thought came and went—how many of her thoughts turned to Peter? 

Here she was in danger, in some pain, and potentially in for hell. Maybe the trauma just hadn’t set in yet. Maybe Spider-Man in the back of her mind kept her more hopeful than she should be. 

She worried about how her parents were holding up too, of course. But that was reflexive, instinctive—potent, but a given. 

What was less of a given but honestly more immediate in her brain was her good and weird and overwhelming thing for Peter. In her current situation it manifested as hoping he wasn’t too stressed. Hoping he wouldn’t have more nightmares because of something that happened to her. 

But maybe this could be a good thing, in a way. The loser was gonna be so proud of himself when he got her out of here. 

Peter had looked at her the other day like he loved her—like how she imagined someone would look if he loved her—and in this room Michelle heard her stomach growling and felt her stiff body aching, but if she could ask for one thing right now it would be to see him do that again. It was incredibly lame, but once she was got out of here the first thing she wanted was to tuck her face against his neck and hear him say everything’s gonna be okay.

So the small guy that had entered her room at some point was sitting in a chair he must have brought in himself. He stared at her, so she stared back. 

When he didn’t speak, she felt her blood pressure rising. This guy was just gonna look at her? They all just stared. Like what, like they wanted to do things to her? Like they couldn’t believe they’d actually gotten away with a kidnapping? 

She really, really didn’t like the staring. 

“This your first time in the same room as a real live girl?”

No response.

“I get it, I guess. I mean you won’t have this when you’re in prison so you’re savoring the moment. Makes sense.”

He stood up. He crossed the room, slowly.

When he got within a few inches of her face, he began to speak in a low voice. His words rolled out slowly.

“Some half of us think if you die it’d be bad for the cause. The rest of us think you dying might be a good way to start showing we still have all the power. I think you should keep talking. Everybody’ll line up and volunteer to kill you themselves.”

He grabbed her left forearm—his wide palm directly against the focal point of swollen damage—and squeezed. She refused to scream, but she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, and when she opened her eyes pent up wetness rolled down her cheeks.

Once he walked out, she wished the pain hadn’t fried her thinking so she could’ve spat in his face.

\---------

 

Ned slept on the top bunk. Peter paced across the ceiling. He had droney’s transmission on speaker still, but nothing had come through for a while. 

It was extreme, maybe, and maybe it was just the adrenaline of a kidnapping and sleepless nights, but Peter felt like if MJ wasn’t okay, he wouldn’t be okay either. It sounded melodramatic when the actual words passed through his head, but not exactly dishonest. And it wouldn’t be guilt that got him, but something like incompleteness.

They’d only been together a few weeks, so this pull on him seemed exaggerated. But technically he’d known her for a couple years and they’d danced around each other for months. 

This day was kicking up the dust, but he felt like once it settled there wouldn’t be anything casual about them, not at the heart of it. 

He checked his watch. 6 o’clock. One hour to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as I've said before, thank you so so much for your very sweet comments and for the kudos!! it keeps me going. I'm grateful for everyone who loves these nerds who shared .5 seconds of screen time like I do!! ps you can expect another chapter within the next two days :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol I never should say stuff like "a new chapter will probably be up in two days" because I can't be trusted. sorry about that to anyone who cares. hope you enjoy this one!

Tuesday had dragged on for what felt like forever, but once a crackle came across droney’s feed—followed by one voice, then two, then a near-unintelligible cacophany of men talking over each other—Peter and Ned checked the clock, looked at each other, and everything started moving at warp speed. 

It was just past 7 when the man droney had been tracking met his partners at “the location.” Droney transmitted GPS coordinates and Peter was out the window and into the dark before Ned even had time to check what the coordinates translated to on a map. 

Turns out MJ was in an old office space south of Newark. Checking it out on streetview, Ned described what he could see to Peter through his headset. Peter barely said anything in response, swinging and running and climbing and swinging as quickly as he could push himself to move. 

And suddenly he was there. 

Droney settled back into his chest, and Peter dropped into the alley. He paused about fifteen feet off the ground, settling against the wall as he planned his entrance. 

“Karen, how many are in there?”

“There are eight people on the ground floor in the room to the right. Two more in separate rooms upstairs.”

“And MJ?”

“There’s a 98.3 percent chance the figure upstairs and to the left is Michelle Jones.”

Holy shit. He finally found her. 

“Thanks, Karen,” he said, taking a deep breath. 

Go time. He hung up on Ned, not wanting to risk any distractions.

Peter didn’t bother trying to sneak his way in. He knew he could take these guys, and he wanted them scared. 

So Spider-Man punched the glass out of the front door and marched into a room filled with dumb, angry assholes. 

He didn’t have the emotional detachment to make quips or really say anything at all. Before they even processed his presence, two of them were pulled together with a web. Peter heard their heads collide with a nasty clunk before they hit the linoleum, immediately trapped there under a web net. 

The third lost consciousness with the force of repeated taser webs that caused his body to seize and fall. 

It felt right to use the taser web after having seen the kidnapping footage. Peter thought MJ would approve.

It took no time for him to slam and stick guys four, five, and six to the wall, mashed together against beige paint. They made muffled groans but, covered so extensively with layers of web, were incapable of so much as raising a finger. If this were any other scenario Peter would consider his work overkill. But this wasn’t any other scenario. 

Everything was happening fast. Peter’d barely been in the building for 60 seconds and he was onto guy number seven. He didn’t realize there were weapons lying around the room, but it was hardly concerning, especially since the shock of his entrance had the men fumbling. 

Guy number seven managed to pick up his gun, but even if Peter didn’t have the ability to dodge the bullets fired at his back, he was pretty sure they would’ve missed. In another five seconds, the small guy’s gun was glued to the floor, and he was splayed out on the wall, immobile and unconscious, set to wake up in a few hours with some serious swelling. 

Upstairs, MJ heard the glass break and the shots as they were fired, as well as the general thumps and shouts of a fight, but she didn’t know if this was an inter-group thing or someone coming to save her. She closed her eyes and hoped it wasn’t the half of the group that wanted her dead who were winning. 

But then what if it was. 

What if the group was fractured down the middle and taking it out on each other before getting ready to take it out on her? The thought was immediately overwhelming, and she began to struggle against her bonds. If there was a time to give escaping everything she had, that time was now.

The thing around her moved as she did, fighting back, feeding off the kinetic energy, but she decided she had to push through it. Things downstairs were happening quickly—and violently—and she didn’t want to be caught halfway freed when they got upstairs.

The problem was that once she started fighting, really fighting, it stopped being about logic. It all became feeling and pure reflexive animal terror at the people downstairs and the thing tightening around her. 

The adrenaline of the moment burned down the lengths of her fingers as she tore and thrashed in vain. Her bonds now felt less likes ropes and more like a blanket, and the top of it was crawling up her neck.

Downstairs, Peter stared down guy number eight, the bearded former shipyard worker he’d been tracking all day.

Weaponless, the man backed towards the wall, eyes darting in search of anything to use for defense. He grabbed a chair and threw it at Peter, who effortlessly bent to dodge it. Peter barely registered the glass fixture on the wall that took the hit, shattering and embedding a decently sized shard of glass in his shoulder. His senses warned him about it as it flew, he just didn’t care. 

He plucked the piece out of his shoulder, unflinching, letting some blood roll out and down the arm of his suit while maintaining eye contact with guy number eight. 

Nearly shaking with adrenaline, Peter closed the gap between them. “You told me you didn’t know what I was talking about.” His shoulder didn’t hurt, but he felt blood drip over his gloved fingers. “I believed you, and I let you go.” He didn’t realize his voice was rising until he was yelling. “ _I let you go!_ ”

He raised his arm and the guy prepared to be hit. Peter webbed the ceiling then the man, dangling him upside down in the blink of an eye. He had him helplessly strung up like a punching bag, but he didn’t want him dead. Peter wanted him to know he was being shown mercy, that he could have cracked bones in his head the minute Spider-Man wanted him to. 

Peter stared at him for a brief moment, and, turning to find the stairs, wiped the blood off his hand across the man’s cheek as if he were a towel. 

The man really didn’t matter. Michelle was the only person who mattered here. 

And that’s when Peter heard the most chilling sound of his life. MJ—calm and cool and hard-boiled MJ—screamed for Spider-Man with pure fear in her voice. One scream, then silence.

MJ’d heard Peter yell and recognized the voice immediately. It was maybe the best thing in the world to hear him, but it was too late to calm the thing all around her, and she was going to suffocate.

For Peter, the stunning relief of hearing her alive and so close rang hollow against the emotion in her voice.

He sprinted upstairs. 

He’d forgotten that Karen spotted two people up there. What was guy number nine doing to MJ?

The stairs led into a hallway with two doors. The one to the right was open and the room was empty, cool air flowing in from an open window. The other was a metal door with a codebox. Heart pounding, Peter yelled for MJ, but she didn’t respond. 

Karen took about ten seconds to break the simple code. 

The door opened, Peter crossed a large empty room, and then he saw her. 

There was no one in the room with MJ, but there was something encasing her head-to-toe against the wall, semi-transparent and reflective in the dim light. It looked like it was eating her alive, and her eyes were wide behind it. They were desperate. She wasn’t getting any air.

Peter leapt forward and started ripping it off her in pieces. First he tore it away from her face. He could see the pained relief as she took a deep sputtering breath.

Immediately she was yelling “Get it off me, get it off me—,” overwhelmed by claustrophobic panic.

Mostly freed, MJ half fell, half jumped at him, arms around his neck. Peter stepped backwards to pull her completely away from the wall. He could hear as much as feel her heart racing. 

She wrapped her legs around him, holding on as tightly as she could even though there was no way he was letting her go.

“You’re okay,” he whispered to her over and over, “You’re okay, you’re okay,” oh my god, oh my god running through his head. It was enough sweetness after enough shittiness that nothing in the world made any sense to Michelle.

They held each other for a beat before MJ pulled his mask off to look him in the eye. She touched his cheek and let out a shaky breath. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” The whole thing was surreal.

“This is good and stuff but if I’m not out of this room in ten seconds I might vomit on you.”

Peter squeezed her around the middle and let her down, keeping one hand at her lower back. “There’s one last guy here somewhere. Everybody downstairs is tied up, but there’s someone else. He might’ve left through the window, though, I’m not sure,” he said.

“Find him later. I have to get out of this place.”

“Yeah. Okay, yeah.”

Peter went to hold her hand, and it wasn’t until she couldn’t return his grip that he noticed her purpling wrist, swollen with an angry red line across her forearm. He wanted to ask what happened but didn’t want to picture it. 

“MJ—”

“It’s nothing, okay? Just don’t ask me to swing us home,” she said, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let’s go.” She took a few steps and steadied herself with a hand on the wall. Peter jerked to spot her. “I promise I’m fine, I’m just a little lightheaded. We’re going for burgers now, by the way, I’ve just decided.”

“Are you okay? I mean, like, obviously you’re— I mean should I take you to a hospital?”

“I can’t think of any McDonald’s drive-thru web-slinging puns, but imagine I said one and it was hilarious.”

“MJ, seriously. Are you okay to go home?”

“You don’t think I’m being serious? It hasn’t been a five-star dining experience over here, and I need to eat something if I’m gonna do people things like stand up.”

It seemed to Peter that if she was bleeding internally there might be less sass, so he’d have to pick his battles and assume she was okay enough for now.

“Let’s go out the window, maybe that’s easiest.”

“I want to go downstairs,” she said, her tone darkening, “I want to see them, Peter.” 

He searched her eyes for a minute and nodded.

She leaned on him walking down the stairs, and they both tensed as they entered the main room. The eight men were still unconscious. 

MJ left his side to spit on each and every one of them. 

Her eyes were dark when she looked back at Peter. Anger then shifted to nerves.

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not.” 

“They deserve it.”

“I agree.” 

“Why are you looking at me like that then?”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Don’t be worried about me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Peter, I’m fine. They didn’t do anything.”

“They kidnapped you.”

“You know what I mean.”

Michelle crossed the room back to Peter and quirked her head toward the exit. It was time to get out of this place she never wanted to think about again.

She started walking out, expecting him to follow. She felt him jog up behind her and reach a hand out to her waist. “MJ.” She stopped. Peter didn’t walk around to face her, and she didn’t turn her head. Instead, she felt his forehead come to rest against the back of her hair, and she got chills as he pressed a kiss into her curls. 

“I’m really really glad you’re okay.”

His superhero work in the next room—the roomful of men incapacitated, bloodied, and strung upside down for god’s sake—was hard to square with the softness of it all. It made a lot of sense all of a sudden why he had nightmares. She’d have to ask for tips when she tried to get to sleep tonight.

“Peter, I’m gonna do a lot of work to forget everything about the last two days, so save your nice things for when we’re out of this building.”

“Okay,” he breathed against her neck. 

He lifted his head and put his mask back on. The two left the building walking side by side, both exhausted but grateful for the other’s presence. 

“You really had to shatter all this glass to get in?”

“Yeah, I mean, it just kind of happened.”

“Such a drama queen, Parker.” 

“Probably. Hey, we should call your parents.”

“Yeah.”

“Karen, call the Jones’.”

It wasn’t a long call. Peter used his official I’m-just-helping-a-citizen voice, trying his best to shake the weary emotion out of it, and MJ repeated, as many ways as she could, “I’m fine, I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. Please have hot food when I get there.” Spider-Man gave them the address where it all went down and told them about the men, how one got away but eight were contained and ready to be picked up by the police or the FBI or whoever the Jones’ wanted while he got Michelle back to Queens. 

He didn’t point it out, but Peter saw her tear up at her parents’ voices. He put an arm around her shoulders.

The two stood about fifteen feet from the building’s entrance, largely shadowed by the night. 

They had no reason to think they were being watched. 

 

\----------

 

Kidnapper number nine heard the commotion as Spider-Man broke into their hideout. He considered running into the girl’s room, using her as leverage to escape. How many people were downstairs? Were there police surrounding the place? He listened enough to gather it was just one guy, maybe two, and realized he could probably get away with a simple run down the fire escape. 

When he hit the ground, he realized he was committing to a life on the run. He’d be easy to connect to the other guys, even if they didn't rat on him. Nobody was supposed to get hurt in all of this, but if all it took was killing one or two interfering somebodies to get them all off the hook, then he’d do it. He couldn’t go to jail.

He remembered the knife in his glove compartment. On the way to his car he peeked inside the building to see if his partners were dead, deciding they probably weren’t. There’s no reason to tie up a set of dead guys. Squatting behind a bush, he watched Spider-Man walk the girl out of the building. He heard him say they were leaving, and thought maybe he’d just run in and cut his friends loose before any cops got to the scene. Maybe nobody had to be killed.

But Spider-Man turned his back at just the right time. Number nine watched the girl curl into him, and it was just too perfect an opportunity. They weren’t paying attention. It’d be quick. 

 

\---------

 

On a normal day, Peter would’ve felt the guy coming from the second he left the bush. But Peter now was dead tired and coming off the adrenaline rush of a rescue mission. The stress that kept him going had peaked and was at a mellow low. He was blurry eyed and ready to sleep for the rest of high school. 

His reaction time was still faster than MJ’s, but it took what focus he had left to move in time to block her from an attack. Shielded by his body, she didn’t know what was happening until guy number nine was on the ground, webbed to the concrete. 

“Holy shit.” She looked at the guy and saw the glint of steel in the moonlight.

“MJ, are you okay?” 

“That knife has blood on it, Peter. Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah, that was from before, I think.”

“From—what? When?”

“He’s gotta be the last guy that was here when I got here. Should be the last guy in the group. Still though, we gotta get out of here.”

“Okay, yeah.”

It’s not that he was trying to be brave—Peter genuinely didn’t feel much pain in his side. At least not yet. It’d heal before he knew it anyway, so there was no reason to worry MJ. 

 

\---------- 

 

They walked for a few blocks before Michelle asked Peter to stop. She’d told him she wanted to walk first before being jostled around in flight, but it was mainly because she wanted to delay getting home and being overwhelmed by her parents’ emotions. She wanted to sit in this in-between time, after being rescued but before being thrown into the motion of real life. Just for a minute, free of restraints, safe next to Peter, without having to talk or move or perform her emotions for anyone. Just sit. So they found a parking lot and sat. He pulled off his mask.

Michelle stared at the flat stillness of the pavement around them. After a minute she spoke.

“That was intense.” Being kidnapped, being held, being rescued, being attacked just when they thought they were safe. The wave of it all was coming up on Michelle.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now?” 

Peter nodded. He stared at her arm, the one she was unconsciously cradling.

“I think if I talk about it I’ll think about it, and if I think about it I’ll think about what could have happened, and if I go there I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you for finding me.”

Peter nodded, stony-faced. Michelle leaned into him still staring at nothing in particular, her nose at the curve of neck and collarbone, the edge between suit and skin.

“I don’t want this to be a thing that happened to me.”

“What do you mean?”

She spoke into his chest. “I don’t want this to be in my head. I don’t want memories of this. I don’t want to feel what this is going to make me feel.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He knew exactly what she meant, but it was so close to the desperate please of his own nightmares, he didn't have any smart solutions.

“Do you want to punch me?”

“What?” MJ snapped out of herself for a minute and raised her head, genuinely caught off guard.

“I dunno. Punching stuff helps sometimes, when there’s nothing else to do.”

She considered it.

“I don’t know if it’d be that satisfying for me. I mean, you punch something and a house falls down. I can’t really do much.”

“I could stand on a ledge, let you knock me off it. That’d feel pretty good I bet.”

She shook her head. 

“I don’t really want to punch you,” she said. “But I’ll keep that in mind for inevitable future disagreements.” 

It could have been funny, but the comic distraction of the moment was deflating, and MJ turned again to nestle against Peter’s neck.

He wrapped his arms around her, and she pulled herself into his lap, gripping his suit, tugging herself as close as possible to him, not wanting to close her eyes but not wanting to look at anything.

To Peter it felt like her whole body was saying I’m afraid, and he felt like mustering the energy to swing back to the scene of it and fight all the men a second time. 

Instead, he held her and tried to tell her with his arms and chest and every part of him that she didn’t need to be afraid anymore. 

MJ wanted her brain to shut up, because what the fuck just happened in her life. The scariest part was that any of them could have been like Peter. Who knows how many people are out there like him—super strong, super agile—just not quite as morally rigid? How do you move forward from this? How can you know what to expect from anyone? 

She didn’t realize she was saying this out loud. 

“You know what to expect from me, though, right? Huge dork? Fully in love with you?”

Maybe it was because of the pain in his side that was beginning to overwhelm him, but it just kind of slipped out. Whatever got him to speak, he didn’t regret it. He could only hope she didn’t either. He watched her face. 

It was easy to miss MJ’s subtle surprise. Her expression stayed almost perfectly still, but an instant passed and she kissed him. It was slow. Their hands were still and their bodies exactly as they were when it started, but she felt it in the pit of her stomach and didn’t want it to stop. 

They kissed for a minute and sat for twenty, holding onto each other for more than warmth, before Michelle said, “I should show my parents I’m okay. We should go.”

“Mhmm.”

Peter’s response was a little groggy. He seemed a little out of it. When she pulled back to look at him, his face was pale.

“Peter?”

“Hmm.” He didn’t open his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Not believing that for a second, Michelle untangled herself from him and stood up. That’s when she noticed, even in the weak moonlight, her jeans were stained with blood that wasn’t hers. And his lower right side was a deeper red than his suit.

“Peter.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine by morning.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to out-trauma me.” 

He gave a weak laugh. “I’m fine, but he did get me with the knife a little I think.”

“Right. Okay. Give me your phone.”

“Only if you’re calling not an ambulance.”

“Fat chance.”

“MJ. I’ve had worse, I swear. Please, I’d never ask you for something in return for rescuing you, but like, I just rescued you, so please don’t land me in a hospital and we’ll be even.”

“We’re already even because I let you date me.”

“I mean, fair, but, MJ. Please.”

Michelle didn’t want to go the hospital, for him or for her. She wanted to fall asleep in her own bed, somehow convince her parents to let Peter stay there with her, and not answer anyone’s questions about anything until she’d had some good sleep and a day to process. But she also didn’t want her boyfriend to bleed out in New Jersey because he was a self-sacrificing dingus.

She knelt down to hold his cheek. 

“Peter. Promise me you’re okay. Like, without medical attention, fully okay, and I won’t call an ambulance.”

“I promise you. I promise.”

Peter pushed himself up, holding his hands out in a display of Check It I Stood Up All By Myself. He was maybe on the verge of passing out—his vision definitely fizzled out for a second when he stood—but no way did MJ get to look out for him today. To be honest the pain was receding. He just kind of felt like going to sleep, like maybe holding her a little longer. But no, wait, she was talking.

“Give me your phone.” She stole it from the pocket in his suit. He protested weakly.

“No ambulances. Unless it’s for you. You should get your arm looked at.” He reached for her arm, gingerly holding her elbow and her hand to look at the damage.

“My arm is fine,” she said, letting him look, not wanting to inspect it closely herself. “I’m calling Ned.”

“Why?” Determining she’d be alright enough to hold him in flight, he moved closer, resting his hands on her hips. 

“An uber driver might have questions about all the blood. And the costume.”

“We don’t need a driver—I’m swinging us back.”

She squinted at him. “You’re insane.”

“I promise you I can.”

She wasn’t even looking at him, muttering to herself, “Everything about this day and you and your body is insane.”

“I know. Okay, you have my phone?”

“What? Yeah.”

“Good.” In one quick motion he pulled his mask over his head, grabbed MJ as tight as he could by the waist, and leapt onto the nearest building. 

“PETER.”

“Scream my name a little louder so people know who I am.”

“There’s no one around, you mother _fucker!_ PETER!”

“We’re fine. Chill out.”

“If you fall out of the sky and I get killed on my own rescue mission, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

 

\-------

 

If it was something he had to do, Peter could usually find a way to do it, even if it meant passing out immediately after. 

They got to MJ’s apartment and stunned her parents with a tap at the window. It was a scene of high emotion and more than a few tears as they entered the window and the Jones’ lunged open-armed at their daughter. 

It took a minute for anyone to realize Spider-Man was unconscious on the floor.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it takes forever for me to update! hope you enjoy the angst. jk I hope you suffer because that means I'm a good writer

“Um.”

“The Spider-Man’s fallen over. Hon, what happened to him?” 

MJ crouched down over Peter, straining to hear a breath over the blood pumping in her ears. “He got a little stabbed—”

“Stabbed?!” 

“—but he doesn’t want to go to the hospital.” Peter seemed to be breathing normally. She prayed the passing out was more an exhaustion problem than a result of the stab wound, which was no longer bleeding freely. Conscious of her parents’ presence, she acted hesitant as she hovered over his body. “He has super healing or whatever so he told me he just needs to sleep it off.”

“On the living room floor?”

Something about that line changed the mood in the room. 

Michelle was stressed. She allowed herself now to feel the pain in her arm, so on top of stressed she was in pain. And she was nervous about her parents’ reactions to her, whether they’d baby her too hard or not know what to say, whether their relationship would change. And her boyfriend’s condition was up in the air. And what was this life with superheroes and nazis and stabbings. And did Peter really say he was ‘fully in love’ with her, and and. But the lame joke from her dad—the familiarity of it—hit her in a wave of warmth. Or something. She grinned. And the grin turned into a chuckle. 

She looked back at Peter, recalling all of a sudden how worried he was about impressing her parents. They had no idea the guy on the floor was him, but technically Peter the boyfriend was here in a pile of limbs unconscious in the living room. And this was suddenly hilarious, and her chuckle turned into uncontrollable, rolling laughter. Stress had snapped into delirium.

“It feels wrong to not do anything to help him,” said Mrs. Jones, not sure whether she should be happy to hear her daughter laughing at the moment.

“It’s definitely wrong to continue this conversation pointing at him on the floor,” her husband replied. “Help me carry him to the sofa, ‘Chelle. Sandra, you could call Lena?”

Still cackling, MJ helped her dad lift Spider-Man’s surprisingly heavy body and move him to the couch and onto a double layer of old towels as Mrs. Jones made the call. 

With her recently returned daughter caught somewhere between a breakdown and a crackup, and a bloodied superhero passed out on their couch, Mrs. Jones rubbed her eyes and dialed her doctor friend’s number. 

 

\---------

 

“Sweets, Lena’s gonna come over to check you and the Spider-Man out.”

“It’s just Spider-Man.” Michelle sat next to him on the couch, coming down from her laughing spell. She was focused now on playing it cool and not running her fingers gently over Peter’s masked forehead while her parents looked on.

“Okay, well, she’s coming over to make sure you both are okay. Or you at least. I don’t know if she can do much for a superhero. And he probably wouldn’t want her cutting open his suit.”

“Tony Stark’ll just make a new one.” Should she have said that?

“It’s a Stark suit? Does it work like Iron Man? I didn’t know that. Is that a thing people know?”

“‘Chelle, who is this guy?”

“No clue. Why would I know?” MJ held her most deadpan of faces. 

“Are you sure? He was so quick to volunteer to help you. And he saved your classmates in DC. I wonder if he’s on staff at Midtown. Did you recognize his voice, Michelle?”

“I literally have no idea. He mentioned the Stark thing on the way over is all.”

“I bet he’s a teacher.”

“I doubt he has a job. I mean he’s not even human. Also he seemed young when he was over here earlier. What else did he tell you on the way over?”

“Nothing. And it’d be way unethical to take his mask off, so it looks like we’re just never gonna know who he is.” MJ was suddenly very interested in the doctor arriving as soon as possible.

“You’re not curious?”

“Honestly, it’s been a really bad couple days and I’m just grateful he found me, you know? And also I could really use another hug, mom.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but Michelle wasn’t ignorant to the fact that poking parental instinct with a stick could quickly shift attention.

Her parents fawned, and she soaked it up as much as she could without being overwhelmed, all the while trying to not too obviously keep a constant eye on Peter’s is-it-rising-and-falling-or-not chest. If he saved her life and she let him die… 

The doctor arrived, and it was almost comical to see her face fluctuate between concern for Michelle and fascination with Spider-Man. 

She grabbed a pair of scissors from her kit and cut open his suit around the small tear at the epicenter of the bloodstains. The wound had crusted over and begun to almost knit itself together, which had Lena literally stunned into silence as she washed the area and treated it. 

To minimize the scar—“Does he even scar? You know what, I’m just gonna pretend this is normal”—Lena was forced to reopen the cut and stitch it closed properly. MJ looked away.

Next, Lena studied the bruising that radiated up and across Peter’s ribcage and, after checking his blood pressure and listening to his chest, determined by her best estimate that he should, remarkably, be perfectly fine in no time. 

The wound wasn’t in a place where the knife could’ve hit anything major, assuming his insides were the same as a regular person’s, and though it might’ve bled a regular person dry, the nasty puncture was healing rapidly enough to keep oxygen circulating and his body on the mend. 

Michelle let out the breath she was very aware had been stuck in her throat and from then on was much happier to let Lena examine her and wrap her arm into a sling. In time she’d heal too. She might’ve warranted a stitch or two on her temple the day before, but the skin had set cleanly enough that Michelle would eventually carry a barely-there scar and no other permanent physical repercussions.

MJ relaxed into the warmth of home and the company of her parents. Getting over this would be weird and probably slow and devastating some days, but in the moment she was hopeful. They talked for a while until everyone started to droop alongside the evening’s swells of emotion. Her parents were no longer looking at her like she was going to disappear in a puff of smoke or like she was five years old, so Michelle felt herself relaxing too.

The Jones adults gave Michelle what felt like the hundredth hug of the night before agreeing to go to bed. But then their gaze turned to Spider-Man. Lena was long gone and Peter lay still on the couch, the flap in his suit open from his chest diagonally down to his hip, a thick bandage taped to his side. 

“Do you think we can sleep with this guy here?” said MJ’s mom. 

“He literally just saved my life. I think we can give him the benefit of the doubt.” 

“But what happens when he wakes up in the middle of the night and we’re all asleep? We should try to wake him up now and send him home. With gratitude, of course, but I mean, Lena said he’ll be fine.” 

“I don’t want to sleep just yet, Mom, so I’ll kick him out before I go to bed. How about that?” 

“You need to get some sleep, hon. Obviously you don’t need to go to school for the rest of the week. We can talk about it when we get to next week, but you should—” 

“Mom.” 

“Michelle. He’s some random man and after everything you’ve been through you want to be around some random man in the middle of the night?” 

“He’s not some random man! He saved me from actual random men, and the literal least we can do is host his crazy spider body while it webs itself back to consciousness.” 

Mr. Jones jumped in. “Do you think that’s actually—?” 

“Who knows,” Michelle said, cutting her dad off. “Look, just let the guy nap. I want him here. He saved me.” Her tone turned a little softer. “I feel safe with him here.” 

“I think it’s fine to have Spider-Man in our apartment for one night, Sandy. What could the guy pull? Something happens we know a good stabbing can knock him out.”

“Dad!”

“I’m kidding, ‘Chelle.”

“Okay, we’re gonna go to sleep then. But wake us up for anything, you hear me?”

Her parents padded down the hall to their bedroom after yet another hug, and MJ put a hand to Peter’s exposed chest, tracing some of the already receding bruising. Michelle had always thought of herself as the un-affectionate Jones, weirdly sensitive to touch despite the overt warmth of her parents. But she sat like this, mindlessly running her fingers over Peter’s skin, feeling his warmth, and it calmed her. She pulled out his phone—who knows where hers was at this point—to send a quick update text to Ned who’d left about eleven voicemails over the past few hours. 

Pete: it’s MJ. thanks for being the guy in the chair and helping find me. don’t know how you guys did it yet but i’m happy that you did 

Ned’s response came at light speed.

NED: OH THANK GOD

Pete: peter got a little hurt and he passed out but we’re both safe at my place and i think he’ll be fine in the morning 

Pete: i think I’ll be fine too. wanted to update you

NED: The stress!!! You guys!!

NED: But for real you’re ok??

Pete: think so. ask again tomorrow.

Pete: could you call May and tell her everything’s good/he’s sleeping over at yours? i can’t deal with more worried parents tonight

NED: sure thing!

Pete: a champion

 

\--------

 

It took another hour for Peter to wake up. It’d been a deep, black slumber, thankfully dreamless. When he opened his eyes he was pretty hazy on where he was. They made it to MJ’s, right? He didn’t remember lying down on a couch, and he definitely didn’t remember being treated for his wounds, but here he was on his back with a bandage. 

All he could really see in the dark room was MJ’s curled up form, knees to her chest, butt against his feet, head on the far arm of the couch. 

“Em.”

“MJ.”

“MJ wake up.”

He didn’t know what time it was or if other people were around, so he spoke softly, punctuating each whisper with a weak foot nudge. 

She snapped up, breathing hard, and he felt immediately guilty. It was gonna be.. something.. going forward, the two of them both trauma-rattled. 

Peter moved to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder but a jolt of pain in his side laid him out. He gingerly reverted to resting on his back. It was then he felt his face and his eyes went wide.

“Chill, my parents didn’t see your face. I took the mask off after they went to sleep so you could breathe more easily.”

“So we are at your place?”

“No we’re at Disneyland. Yes we’re at my place. You don’t recognize the couch?” It took a second, but Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Put that face away,” said Michelle, who was suddenly squatting with her face right next to his. “You’re so dumb. You’re the dumbest idiot, Peter.”

“Sorry for waking you up.”

“Not for that, loser, for getting stabbed and swinging around anyway. If you wanted to impress me you should’ve focused on staying conscious.”

“Sorry.”

“It was almost a perfect rescue, but I have to knock the score to a six out of ten because of the dismount. And all the blood. You owe my parents a deep-cleaned carpet.”

Peter was kind of glad the Joneses had gone to sleep. Sure, he’d rescued their daughter like he promised, but then he’d made them take care of him when the focus should’ve been all on Michelle. He would have been too embarrassed to look them in the eye.

“How are you feeling?”

MJ glanced at his side and responded, “You’re not curious about yourself first?”

“Doesn’t feel like I’m dying,” he said with a small shrug.

“Alright Mr. Man, well, you’re not. And neither am I. I’m pretty alright, actually.”

“Your arm?”

“Hairline fracture probably. Doctor didn’t think there was much chance it could be more than that, and I didn’t want to go to the hospital, so I decided to wing it.” She gestured with her sling at that, grinning.

“That’s worse than any pun I’ve made in a while.”

“It is pretty annoying that of all the things to rub off on me it couldn’t be the super strength.”

The room went silent for a minute. A small puddle of moonlight floated on the carpet. A few cars drove down the street below, engines as background noise to the night. The two looked at each other. 

“Hey, you good?” Peter knew how impossible it was to talk about things sometimes, but he didn’t want to not ask. 

MJ offered a hand. “Come to my room.”

“Your parents—”

“They never come in without knocking. And if they do I’ll say Spider-Man left but I called you-Peter in the middle of the night and snuck you in. We’ll just sleep, okay?” 

Moving was about the last thing Peter wanted to do, but he felt too exposed in the living room with his suit on, so he nodded. He stood up slowly. When it wasn’t sparking with a sharp pain, his body felt stiff. “I can’t believe that guy stabbed me. So uncalled for.”

MJ gave his hand a squeeze and said, “It definitely cost him the spot in my top ten favorite people. Ol’ Whitey McKnifehands, he coulda had it all.”

Grinning, Peter squeezed her hand back as they started walking to her room. “Hey I guess the upside of this is we don’t have to do History by Friday. No way Sanders holds you to the deadline.”

“Ah, Ol’ Sandsy McDeadlinesman, always a fair one.” MJ barely got her sentence out before starting to giggle. 

“Are you having an episode of some kind?”

“You talking to me, Ol’ Spider McLycrasuit? Ol’ Sticky McStickstowalls? Ol’ Boytoy McFullylovesme? Ol’—”

Peter cut Michelle off. “So that did, I did say that?” Hm. Turns out that happened. “That was, I mean— I was pretty out of it, not that I—”

“You trying to say you don’t love me?” she said with a grin.

They were standing in her doorway now, still holding hands. Beneath the automatic smile at her teasing prod, Peter was a little lost in the tone of things, to be honest. MJ was cracking herself up a second ago on a roll with terrible jokes, and she was clearly still joking, but it was a very fresh thing to be cavalier with. At least to him. They both had an intense couple days and it just kind of slipped out, and maybe she thought he was ridiculous for saying it, but it didn’t feel all that ridiculous to him.

“No, I’m just— I’m— All I’m saying is if it’s too much you can cut me a break because I was, you know, about sixty percent conscious.” When she didn’t respond immediately he took his hand back from hers, starting to pop his knuckles. He couldn’t read her face. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know it’s fast. Ned thinks I’m obsessed with you. Which I’m not. I mean I kind of am, but in a healthy, respectful— There was a lot of adrenaline today, you know?”

“Peter.” 

“Yeah.”

She was gonna say it back. She really was. She’d made a joke to ease into the subject instead of blurting it out as soon as he was conscious like she’d originally planned.

Except Peter was walking it back now, or at least making it look like he wanted to. Maybe he’d thought he was gonna die before he said it and wanted to end on a positive note, you know, say a thing that made her feel good, that made “them” really real. That kind of excessive taking care of others actually sounded very Peter-like. If he thought he was gonna die though he would’ve called May. Or. Okay, come on, Michelle, you’re just staring, you have to say _something_.

She started slow, unsure. “I was being dumb, just cracking jokes. It’s not a big deal.” If she kept it light she could pretend he loved her and that this conversation never happened. Fuck. “I only got a tiny nap in on the couch, and I’m a little delirious. We should go to sleep.” 

She turned and walked to her dresser, looking for clothes Peter could change into.

Now he felt entirely stupid. He didn’t need her to say it back, he just didn’t expect her to take it like it didn’t mean anything. She’d kissed him like they were on the same page when he said it, right? Granted, half his blood was outside of his body when he said it and the memory was a little fuzzy, but… Whatever. Whatever. They were both tired and this day needed to end.

“Sure, yeah you should get some rest. And me too. I, yeah. Is that a shirt I can wear?”

 

\-------

 

Michelle woke up first. It was just past 2 am. Gasping silently, she opened her eyes, desperate to see anything but her dream. She’d been sitting in a museum she couldn’t leave, staring at the only painting on the wall, which was an eerie mashup of the kidnappers’ faces. Now, awake, she couldn’t even blink without seeing it, so there was no way to fall right back to sleep.

Peter was passed out to her right. It was still a little weird sleeping next to him, a little illicit, but all that and the earlier awkwardness aside she was desperately glad he was here. There was literally no safer place in Queens. All her frazzled mind let in now was the sense of safety radiating off his body. She was fine, she would be fine, she’d been taken and she’d been saved, she was stronger now and she was free. Touching her head to his shoulder, she fell back asleep.

4 am. Someone set off a car alarm on the street below, waking Peter from another dreamless sleep. He was grateful again to not have seen anything behind his eyelids. The one upside of frequent nightmares was the relief of blank nights. 

The alarm outside subsided, but he wasn’t immediately settled. He felt MJ leaning into him, and in this kind of timeless, middle-of-the-night nowhere zone, her forehead against his shoulder felt like the only thing tethering him to reality. 

But what a weird reality. Lying in bed next to him was Michelle Jones. She was here with him now, but after what she went through anyone would need comfort. What about when she recovers? Her liking him in the first place made little sense to him, and here he was pushing the limits. How much of an idiot was he to raise the stakes to love? 

His thoughts faded in and out of lucidity as he drifted back to sleep, transfixed by her presence.

5 am. MJ woke up to Peter shifting in his sleep. Turning onto his uninjured side, he now faced away from her, into the wall. She hoped he was sleeping okay. Michelle hated that he got nightmares and that when he was here last she got insecure and mad at him instead of trying to help. He goes through shit and she needs to do better to help him, especially now that she’s had a little taste of fear and pain that he must experience regularly. He literally took a knife to the gut to protect her and she, what, she made him regret loving her? Wow, Michelle. 

If they were strangers she’d owe him, but they’re not strangers. She loves him. It’s not an owing kind of situation. It’s bigger picture caring. MJ fell back to sleep scooting closer to Peter, a half dream on her mind that he could feel safe just being in the same room as her, like she did with him. 

7:30. Peter’s heartbeat spiked. The second his eyes opened the nightmare was gone like it never happened. He wouldn’t know it was there but for the jolt that ended it and woke him up. 

This happened about as often as the bad dreams that transitioned into conscious memory. Initially this phenomenon was comforting—hey, you didn’t have to actually see the horror show—but now when he wakes up, body tense, it’s like he’s swimming in the ocean and a shark is under him somewhere. It didn’t eat him yet, but that doesn’t mean anything. He wished Michelle weren’t here so he could take a few deep breaths without worrying he was going to wake her up, without feeling ashamed.

Here she was, freshly traumatized, sleeping peacefully in the pale early morning light. Things rolled off MJ. Maybe too easily, but maybe he’s a sensitive baby and that’s one of many potential reasons this isn’t going to work out. Thoughts swirled, claustrophobic, til he was asleep again without realizing it.

8 am. MJ flipped onto her sling in her sleep and that was a bad idea. The pain quaked through her and her eyelids fluttered as she exhaled sharply, suddenly conscious. Was a solid night’s sleep too much to ask for after so much stress?

But as she righted herself onto her back she looked at Peter who’d moved in his sleep to face her. Curled into a loose fist, his hand lay in front of his nose on the pillow. Trying not to wake him up she ran her fingers slowly, softly over his knuckles. She could feel his warm breath. Bright sunshine was streaming in through the window.

I’m so lucky, she thought. Look at him. 

He must be rubbing off on her—this optimism, this hope she felt that everything would be okay, that the bad guys didn’t win, seemed like a Peter kind of emotion. If she didn’t have him she probably would’ve been fine, but she wouldn’t believe so much in good people.

His hair was a little sweaty and gross but she really must be in love because she wanted to smell it and kiss his neck. 

They’re definitely having sex the minute they’re both healed. Maybe even before that if they’re careful. It doesn’t have to be wild, she thought, it can be sweet and slow and she won’t have to be embarrassed to be that way for once, and maybe that way he’ll see how gone she is for him. 

Michelle decided that the second they’re both up in the morning she’d say I love you too. They’d start the new day with a fresh slate. She was holding his hand now, falling asleep picturing the look he’d have on his face. 

At about 9:15 Peter found himself swinging MJ through the dark. He was trying to get her home, her parents were waiting for them, and everything was going to be alright. Except she passed out as they flew. He realized she was the one who got stabbed, not him, and her face didn’t look right. He screamed at her to wake up but she didn’t, and as they landed on top of her building he knew she was gone. 

When he woke up he realized she was holding his hand and they were lying in her bed and she was fine. But it was like his head was screaming she’s dead she’s going to die. Peter was confused and halfway concious, and he could feel the bed and see her breathing, but the dream was with him like a memory and his brain was caught in a heavy fog.

It hit him like he’d swung into a wall: everything in my head sours. Everything good turns bad, no matter if I saved her, no matter if we’re dating, no matter if I have literal superpowers, it all goes bad in my brain and I’m stuck here. The thought ran through his veins with a bitter adrenaline, and he couldn’t shake it. The anxiety was a warped fun house mirror, and in the middle of it loving Michelle meant losing her and feeling more alone than he could handle. 

He knew it didn’t make sense. She was rescued. She was fine. The kidnapping didn’t have anything to do with him in the first place. Everything was okay. Except. He didn’t trust his mind. All he could trust was that he closed his eyes and things fell apart. He loved her and maybe she loved him too or would love him at some point but that didn’t matter because having something good to lose was too much of a risk to take and everything was twisting and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

MJ opened her eyes at the end of Peter’s panic attack, when her dad happened to knock on her door.

“Hey ‘Chelle? I heard some noise and figured you’re up. How are you feeling? You okay?” 

Peter froze. He was halfway out of her window. Michelle looked at him. 

She held eye contact with Peter as she replied, “Hey, Dad, yeah I’m gonna go back to sleep though I think. I’m alright.” 

Peter’s fingers tapped nervously against the wood of the windowframe. 

“Okay sweets. Just so you know, as far as Midtown knows you’ve been out for a family emergency. Your advisor said to tell you all your work’s been put on hold and if you need to be out for a bit more you can work out some alternate assignments to make up for whatever grades.” 

“Thanks Dad.” She tried to keep her voice light, but the look on Peter’s face had her worried. 

“Sleep well, ‘Chelle.” 

MJ watched as Peter looked at her, pained, and disappeared.


	14. Chapter 14

~~this isn't a chapter, but I wanted to catch your eye if you're following this story and already read the last update (from a couple hours ago). Something weird happened when I posted and more than half of the chapter was cut off, so if you read it and it felt short, go back and read chapter 13 again, it should be complete now. sorry!


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